TWO WEEKS HAVE PASSED since the Great Halloween Incident when Cass struts into Greenies, causing me to pause the tedious task of marrying ketchup bottles. Suspicion narrows my eyes at the sight of him.
Not because he’s at Greenies; his presence here has become a regular thing during my shifts since I got his ban expunged. All it cost me was spending every weekend for probably the rest of my life in this shithole.
No, it’s the smirk on his face, screaming of trouble, and the way he’s swaggering towards the counter that has a groan bubbling up in my throat. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, humming into the receiver as he slides onto a stool across from me. “I’m with her right now.”
“Who’s that?” I mouth, leaning over the counter to try to get a peek at the caller ID, yelping when I’m unceremoniously shoved away by a palm to the forehead. “Hey!”
Ignoring me, Cass holds up a single finger in the universal, condescending as fuck symbol for ‘just a minute.’ I pout as he uhms and ahs into the phone, giving me one-sided dribs and drabs of a conversation, clearly taking sick pleasure in my obvious impatience. “Okay, I’m putting you on speaker.” Stabbing a thumb at the screen, Cass finally holds the phone out between us and sings, “Say hello to your second favorite child, Patrick.”
Patrick? “Dad?”
The voice that replies sparks a lonely pang in my chest. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi,” I reply slowly, eyeballing Cass with no small amount of confusion and suspicion. “How did you get his number?”
“He called me!” Cass’ free hand rises, his fingers forming the scout’s salute. Funny, because he was never a scout and his honor is questionable. The quirk of his lip proves it. “This time.”
There’s no time to question why my dad rang Cass instead of me; I’m too busy internally groaning at the renewed friendship that, God, drove me freaking mad over the years. It’s only fair, I suppose. It’s not like I haven’t been sharing almost-daily phone calls with Cass’ mom. Hell, I talk to the woman more than I talk to Dad.
Our first conversation in almost four years was little more than sobs and unintelligible wept words. For so many years, Lynn Morgan was my parent. The only mother I ever really knew. And I was her daughter, her only daughter. I missed her, I always missed her, but the weight of it didn’t truly hit me until that first call connected and a hesitant but oh-so-comforting voice murmured my name, and the tears just erupted.
Like Cass’ visit to my workplace, his mother’s calls quickly became the norm. Brief check-ins that always leave me feeling a little guilty because I wonder if she’s calling only to check I haven’t disappeared again.
That disheartening thought doesn’t have long to linger; it’s elbowed aside by the playful groan echoing through the phone. “I can’t tell if I’m happy or terrified that you two found each other again.”
Cass and I share a grin. Lynn shared a similar sentiment earlier this week; she’d added our time apart was the universe’s way of balancing out the chaos we caused over the decade we spent joined at the hip. Admittedly, we were menaces in our younger years. Always trolling for trouble, always causing our parents all kinds of grief, and always proud of it. Sometimes, I wonder if, buried deep, they were a little glad for the break.
“You two burn anything down yet?” Dad continues in a droll tone.
“Not yet.” Cass’ waggling brows are audible in his teasing tone. “But the night is young.”
The two men share a laugh, and my face can’t decide whether to grin or grimace. “Did you call just to make fun of us?”
With a clearing of his throat, Dad sombers, and my gut tells me exactly what he’s going to say. “I’ve got some bad news, sweetie.”
I have to work for Thanksgiving.
I say the words in my head in unison with Dad as he utters them aloud.
My eyes flutter closed momentarily, puffing out a disappointed but unsurprised sigh. I should’ve expected it. I spent the last two alone—why would this year be any different?
I’ve never resented my dad for his hectic work schedule when I was younger. After the Morgans entered my life—or, rather, after I crashed into theirs—the many, many hours without him were wholly occupied by them. I barely noticed if I’m being brutally honest. But after the move, when it was just me and him, that’s when his absence became glaringly obvious. That’s when the resentment began to creep in, an emotion I’m capable of keeping at bay because, hey, such is the life of a surgeon’s daughter. I always lose my grip a little around the holidays, though.
“It’s fine.” God, I’ve said that word more over the past couple of weeks than I have in my entire life.
“I’m sorry. I know I promised.”
A soft touch caresses the back of my hand. Opening my eyes, I return Cass’ sad, sympathetic smile. “Seriously, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
“Silver lining,” Cass chimes in, squeezing my hand tightly. “You can spend Thanksgiving with us.”
A weird tingle of excitement swirls in my belly as nerves stutter my speech. “Really?”
Cass hums an enthusiastic yes. “It was Mom’s idea. I’m under strict instructions to kidnap you if you say no.”
A snort leaves me even as apprehension settles in my gut. It’s a tempting offer. So damn tempting. I want to—I don’t know if I can. I’m not sure I can do it, physically or mentally. In the three years since I left, I’ve never once had the urge to go back. My chest tightens at the mere thought. My palms get clammy. A phantom, metallic taste fills my mouth. A dull, non-existent ache emanates from my long-since healed kneecap. I… “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s a good idea, Mils,” Dad says gently. “It’d make me feel better, knowing you’re not alone.”
“Mom said the same.”
Bastards. Guilt-tripping bastards.
The fingers not being held hostage by Cass drum rapidly against the counter in an off-beat rhythm as I contemplate my choices. Granted, being alone on Thanksgiving fucking sucks. And while it might’ve been a while, Lynn’s Thanksgiving dinners are ingrained in my memory; my mouth waters at the prospect of them. And, beneath the unease and the guilt, I want to see the Morgans again. But I’m worried about what seeing them will lead to, worried the things I’ve worked hard to bury deep will arise. Plain and simple; I’m scared.
“Hey,” Cass’ voice pulls me from the worry wormhole I’m dangerously close to falling into. Phone nowhere to be seen—he must’ve said goodbye without me noticing—he wraps both my hands in his and leans in close, uncaring that I’m at work and we’re surrounded by a fuck ton of people. It’s only him and I as he murmurs, “We don’t have to leave the house. We don’t have to see anyone. We can just chill.”
We can just chill. Him and I and the family.
Slowly, hesitantly, half-regretting it as soon as I do, I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
I’m soothed more than a little by the great, whopping beam threatening to split Cass’s face in two. “Great,” he says, eyes the richest brown as they twinkle at me. “Cuz I already made you a roadtrip playlist.”
“You are such a little shit.”
“You love me.”
I do. Ordinarily, I do. However, I love him a little less when, still grinning, he props his chin in his hand and blinks innocently at me. “So, you know the Silvas spend Thanksgiving with us, right?”
Oh, fuck my life.
Eyes drooping, my jaw aches with a yawn as I follow Cass through a crowded pub; the last place I want to be tonight.
“We’re going out,” my beloved brother declared the moment my shift ended, the groan I’d replied going ignored.
With exhaustion weakening my freaking bones, I’d tried to argue but he didn’t leave much room for it. Before I knew it, I was being steered a couple of hundred feet down the street from my workplace and shoved through the doors of another one of Sun Valley’s favorite student haunts.
“I’m not impressed,” I warn Luna, yelling over the clamoring din of the pub when she springs to her feet at the sight of me, palms smacking together excitedly. It took exactly one brain cell to figure out who acted as Cass’ little helper; he shoved a tote bag containing a change of clothes into my reluctant arms and the outfit reeks of Luna. Meaning there’s not a lot to it; a silky, green slip skirt that leaves no aspect of my lower body to the imagination and a white tank with a similar effect. Thank God she shoved my boots in there. Otherwise, the urge to kick her in the shin might’ve overwhelmed me.
“I did it for your own good,” my friend yells back. “You gotta get out more.”
“I go out!”
“You go to work and class,” she retorts, poking the pale sliver of my stomach revealed by the outfit she chose. “You’ve been hiding lately. You’re withering away.”
“I am not withering.” I’m not hiding either. I’m… self-preserving. Limiting the chances of an encounter with him, at least until the physical reminder of his existence branded on my wrist fades. Plus, I do go out. I go to Cass’. I go to the gym.
I have witnesses for both.
Ignoring my thunderous expression, Luna grins, tugging on the disheveled plaits I did this morning. “You look hot.”
“I’m fucking freezing.”
Manicured fingers, painted her signature baby pink, pat my cheek mockingly. “Beauty is pain, baby. Suck it up.”
I shove her away with an eye roll before turning my attention to the booth Luna lept out of, raising my brows at the only person who looks as unhappy to be here as I am. “How’d they get you out?”
Kate raises a pint glass filled to the brim with murky brown liquid. “Bribery.”
God dammit. I should’ve held out until Cass turned to bribery as a resort. I’m trying to find him and demand compensation for my presence when waggling fingers and pale green eyes sparkling with mischief catch my attention. “Hi, Tiny.”
My face tightens in a glower—my body’s natural reaction to that freaking nickname–but it’s half-hearted, lightened by the grin begging to break through. It’s very, very hard not to grin when in the kid’s presence. “Hi, Ben.”
I learned very quickly it wasn’t only Cass I had to make room for in my life; I had to carve out space for his little prodigy sidekick too. Not that I mind; I kind of fucking adore the kid. He’s a big ball of infectious energy that, admittedly, makes my brain feel like it’s rattling sometimes but I like him all the same.
Movement in my peripheral catches my attention, and I resist the urge to gape as Luna plops herself in the lap of the long-haired baseball plater she picked up a couple of weeks ago because, yeah, that’s still a thing. I’m surprised as hell but I’m keeping my reactions to a minimum, treating this budding relationship with kid gloves lest I spook Luna like a feral cat. So, I purse my lips and stay silent, even if a teasing comment is begging to rip free.
“You want my jacket?” Jackson offers, completely genuine, and okay. I see it. The nice guy appeal. A girl could get used to all the kindness in those narrow, hooded eyes. I wonder how Luna survives under the weight of it.
I decline his offer with a shake of my head before gesturing to the bar. “I’m gonna get a drink.”
Cass, who’s made himself comfy in the booth squished among our friends already, raises a brow, a silent want me to come?
I wave him off and start to elbow my way through the crowd. The Sunshine Tavern is like the fun younger sibling of Greenies; a little bit wilder, a lot less regulated. It’s the only place in town that doesn’t give a shit about ID’ing, probably because the owner is filthy rich and pays the cops off. It’s a lot cheaper here too which is why I’m considering splurging on a fancy cocktail instead of the cheap cider I usually relegate to nights out like this. If I can even get a drink; if the bartender ever makes his way through the mass of people also seeking a beverage.
I’m studying the bodies crowding around me, mentally calculating how long this is going to take, when my gaze lands on a familiar face and suddenly, inexplicably, I get the urge to hide.
Nick, stationed at the opposite end of the bar, hasn’t seen me yet. Lounging on a stool, he’s got his back to the bar, legs spread to make room for the girl pressed to his front. She’s pretty. A redhead like me but not quite as vibrant. More strawberry blonde, less Anne with an E. A slightly starstruck expression paints her face like she can’t believe she’s worthy of having her ass manhandled by Nicolas freaking Silva, and honestly, I get it. I’ve only got access to his side profile and I’m gazing a little.
There’s something about him. A quality I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s hard to look away from but beyond being ridiculously handsome. Yeah, it’s the strong jaw, the distinct cheekbones, the panty-dropping smile, and, fuck me, eyes the exact shade of burnt honey that grab your attention but something else keeps it. Something… magnetic. Addictive. I’ve experienced it more than once. Hell, I’m experiencing it right now.
I feel like a creep as I rake my gaze over him, noting every detail almost against my will. The deep dimple peeking out every so often, the dark hair falling in thick curls, the thin grey jumper clinging to every inch of his well-honed physique.
A half-groan, half-snicker gets caught in my throat when I reach the black Dr. Martens on his feet, exactly mine but much bigger. Similarly battered and well-worn, though. For God’s sake, I didn’t think he could get any hotter.
Whatever choked noise I’m making abruptly dries up, my body stiffening, when the distinct sensation of someone watching me tickles the back of my neck. Slowly, stifling what’s definitely a groan this time, I drag my gaze upwards, already anticipating the golden one I know I’m going to meet because isn’t that just my luck?
The sneaking suspicion I’ve been caught red-handed in the middle of my perusal is quickly confirmed; Nick’s staring right at me, those damn hypnotic eyes burning my skin. Or maybe that’s the blush creeping up my neck, fanning across my cheeks. Acting like he didn’t catch me blatantly checking him out, I act casual, adopting an easy smile, lifting my hand in a friendly wave.
A wave that stutters and dies when it’s met with nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The son of a bitch ignores me.
He graces me with a second of eye contact before breaking our gazes like they never met at all. The only proof he saw me—which he did, he looked right fucking at me—is the unnatural clench of his jaw as his expression becomes pissier than it was a moment ago.
Well, fuck you too then.
With a scoffed laugh, I shake my head and turn back to the bar. Planting my elbows on the slightly sticky wood, arms stacked, I impatiently rock back and forth as I try to catch the bartender’s attention, needing that drink even more now. But there must be something in the air because I swear to God, he’s ignoring me too.
“Fucking men,” I mutter aloud.
Fucking men, I repeat in my head when an unwanted hand lands on my lower back.
I jolt forward in surprise, my face contorting in a wince when my ribs smash against the lip of the bar. Glancing over my shoulder at the offender, my expression falls flat.
Oh, fuck me.
“What do you want?” My tone comes out uninterested, unamused, unimpressed, all things I feel towards the man towering over me. I never was a fan of any of Dylan’s friends. They were rude assholes, honestly, who never made an effort with me, unless that effort was a misogynistic comment or leering. But one of them always topped my shit list with his obnoxious personality, and he’s staring at me like I’m the shit on his shoe.
Will ignores my obvious disdain in favor of scoffing, his hot breath slapping me in the face. “Didn’t take you long.”
I half-turn so I can glare up at him properly, hating how close his face looms. “Excuse me?”
“Heard you’ve shacked up with some other guy,” he sneers, making no effort to hide his contempt for me, just as I make no effort to hide mine from him. “You didn’t embarrass Dylan enough, huh? You needa run around campus like a slut too?”
“Are you kidding me?” I can only laugh. Dylan cheated on me but yeah, I’m the slut. Makes sense. With a roll of my eyes, I turn away. “Fuck off, Will.”
He doesn’t.
“You always thought you were too good for him.” I cringe as beer-stinking breath invades my senses. He’s too close, his fingers still digging into me, purposely lingering on my bare skin. “You deserve everything he did to you.”
My whole body freezes. My lungs cease to function. I think my heart even stops for a minute. The only part of me working is my brain, conjuring up unwelcome images of a night not too long ago when, just for a moment, I thought I wasn’t going to make it home.
I’m so out of it, I almost don’t notice the abrupt disappearance of Will’s clammy hand, his unsolicited presence. It’s not until it’s replaced by a different one, higher up, the warmth of a new palm seeping through my thin tank, that I restart.
I jerk away and the hand immediately falls but the owner remains near. Nick, I realize, when I pivot and find him playing the ignoring game again. Or at least that’s what I assume at first. It takes a minute for it to sink in that he’s not looking at me because he’s wholly occupied trying to eviscerate Will with the sheer force of his glare.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he could.
“Fuck off,” the man demands, the deep timbre of his voice making me shiver.
“You fuck off,” Will so creatively retorts and I almost laugh.
Fucking boys.
Willing the ugly knot in my chest to disappear, I muster up all my energy, directing it into a glare aimed at Will. “Stay away from me,” I repeat the same sentiment I offered his friend. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
Anger flushes Will’s skin, his nostrils flaring in an unattractive display of indignance. His whiny mouth opens, probably to hiss more hate, but he doesn’t get the chance.
“Don’t make her tell you again.”
Nick’s low warning, uttered in a more distinctly accented voice than usual, isn’t aimed at me yet I feel it in my freaking bones. It makes my breath catch, my knees wobble, a coil in my belly tighten.
I try very hard to disregard that last one.
Will’s contemplation is an almost visible thing. He assesses Nick, sizing him up, wondering if he can take him in the fight he so clearly desperately wants to start.
He can’t.
I know it, the smug quirk of Nick’s lips says he knows it, and, apparently, so does Will.
“Whatever,” he spits. “She’s not worth it anyway.”
With those charming parting words, Will stomps into the crowd, not a single breath inflating my lungs until he disappears completely and the bravado I’ve been forcing disappears with him. It’s like my body deflates, my shoulders hunching as I curl in on myself, my arms wrapping around my torso and squeezing, my vision blurring as my head spins, my chest aches.
One night. I just wanted one night.
