Chapter 2
M y heart races in my chest, and even though my skin feels cold to the touch, my palms are sweaty. I’m pretty thankful I remembered to put on deodorant because I have the nervous sweats right now for two reasons. One, I’m going to a house filled with people I don’t know, with my face looking like I got attacked by a zombie. And two, I have to see him.
Smith Sawyer—aka my childhood friend, first love, and the dude who fooled me into falling stupidly hard for him, only to bolt.
“Are you sure your brother knows I’m coming?” I mumble to Saylor, keeping my gaze fixed out the window.
I hate that my best friend is forcing me to come out tonight after I’ve been in Portland with her for only a few days. After everything went down with Richie and me, I couldn’t go back home to my parents. Saylor’s house was my only option.
The only problem is? She lives about ten minutes from her brother, Smith. Which means … Friendsgiving? Yeah, we have to attend that shit.
Or she has to attend, and she’s stuck bringing me because my life is in absolute shambles.
“He knows,” she says calmly, but also in an I don’t really give a shit tone. “And even if he didn’t, fuck him. It’s not at his house. It’s at Kolt and Paige’s. And you’ll love Paige. She’s super sweet.”
“And Kolt?” I ask, noticing that she only said Paige was sweet. I spin my head toward her curiously. “Am I going to love him too? I mean … his name is kind of intimidating. Kolt. Not Kolton. Just straight-up Kolt.”
“Trust me, his name matches him perfectly.” She snorts. “He’s covered in tattoos. Uber muscular. And sort of grumpy. Gives off asshole vibes, but he really is nice somewhere deep, deep down. He’s just … well, he’s Kolt. I don’t have a way to describe him other than that. ”
She glances at me, widening her eyes. “Oh, and his wife, Paige, left him for, like, a long time. And then he got smashed on the ice—like, full fucking force—and then he had a heart attack, and now, Paige is back. Because … you know, true love and all.” She sighs dramatically. “They are goals.”
“Wow, that’s … a lot of information,” I say.
I try to digest everything my best friend just word-vomited in a matter of seconds. That’s who Saylor is, but having her chatty self around has gotten me through the past few days, even if she tries to shove ice cream and carbs down my throat every five seconds.
After my night from hell with Richie, I knew I had to get out of California immediately. Even though I called the police to save me, I didn’t press charges because I knew it would be useless. Richie’s family comes from old, old money. And a lot of it too.
Whether I pressed charges or didn’t, I was pretty much screwed either way, but I’m terrified he’s going to come find me. That’s another reason why I’m not going back home to my parents. Sure, that’s only three hours away from where I am right now in Portland, but he isn’t all that familiar with Maine. So, I know he’s not going to randomly come to this particular city to look for me.
Just the thought sends a chill down my spine. I hope he doesn’t anyway.
As Saylor turns the car into a driveway, she waits by the gate, and it opens a few moments later. Though I wanted to be brave, coming here tonight, my stomach feels sick. I ball my fists up, digging my nails into my flesh, and swallow.
Being my best friend and knowing me like the back of her hand, Saylor looks over at me.
“We don’t have to go if you aren’t up for it, Gem. The last thing I want to do is make things worse for you. God knows you’ve been through enough as it is.”
A huge part of me wants to tell her to turn the car around and go back to her house. We could put on our sweatpants, get an unhealthy amount of questionable snacks, and just binge-watch some trashy TV. Or talk about literally anything or nothing at all. Because imagining walking into this house right now … it’s terrifying.
I mean, my cheek is still bruised—though most of it is hidden from my talented best friend’s makeup work. And the cut on my cheek is still very noticeable, and that isn’t something makeup can really hide. Though my lip is cut, that healed particularly fast and doesn’t look all that bad. Still, I don’t want people to stare at me and wonder what happened.
“It’s fine,” I utter because I know she’s just trying to get me out of the house. I also know she’s a social butterfly and she loves parties like this. “We can go for a little while.”
Just as the words leave my lips, we pull in front of the house, and my eyes roam over it. After being with Richie, I’m no stranger to elaborate places. And this one is no exception. It’s gorgeous, but it’s also not excessively fancy the way that I’m sure it could easily be. After all, this dude is apparently in the NHL with Smith. Lord knows they have money to throw around.
She shifts the car into park, but her hand doesn’t rush toward the door handle. Instead, she sighs. “Are you sure? Like … really, really sure? Because it’s fine if you don’t want to. Really, Gemma, I—”
“I know you want to go, so let’s go,” I blurt out. “But please remember to stick to the story.” I look at her and widen my eyes. “Which is?”
She looks puzzled but swallows. “You’re here visiting me, and you were in a car accident the other day, and that’s why your face looks like that.” She inhales sharply. “I’m going to fucking kill that useless bastard one day though.”
Once the words leave her mouth, her entire body grows rigid, and she instantly looks furious. I didn’t even call her before I showed up at her apartment a few days ago. I had known that, if I had, in the hours it took me to fly from California to Maine, she’d have worried nonstop. Or worse, caught a flight to the West Coast to murder my fiancé.
Ex-fiancé now.
“He’s not worth going to jail for, babe. Besides, there’s a special place in hell just for people like him.”
I attempt to smile, but it sends a pain through my heart. The man I thought I was going to marry has taken so much from me, yet coming here and knowing I’m about to be near Smith, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m betraying Richie, even though he’s a monster who deserves nothing from me.
“Who said I’d go to jail?” She winks. “You’re not giving me enough credit to get shit done, Gemmy.” She sashays her shoulders, giving me a sneaky smile. “Now, are you sure you want to go in? Because I mean it—we can go home right now if you’re uncomfortable.”
The thing about most people is that they oftentimes say things to make themselves feel better. They offer to do things to help, but in reality, they don’t mean it. With Saylor, she does. She hurts for everyone, and when she loves someone … she’s a true ride or die.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” I blow out a breath. “They probably have good food and unlimited alcohol, right?”
“Fuck yeah, they do,” she says, like the little potty mouth she is, before pulling her phone out. After typing something, she looks over at me. “All right … guess we’ll go in.”
“The question is, is Mr. Ryder Cambridge going to be here?” I wink.
Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and she shushes me like I’m a toddler.
“You are not allowed to mention his name!” she angrily whispers.
I look around the car. “But we’re alone.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she grumbles through gritted teeth. “We are not speaking of Ryder. Or his huge, annoyingly perfect di—”
“I wasn’t going to mention any of that.” I scrunch my nose up. “Nor did I need to know that he’s packing.”
“Oh, he is,” she says, rolling her eyes and applying some lip gloss.
Knowing Ryder might be here obviously has her in a tizzy. Apparently, not long ago, they had a one-night stand, which wouldn’t be a problem because Saylor is very … friendly, but Ryder is Smith’s best friend. And there’s other drama with an ex-teammate and her, which somehow ties to Smith, though I don’t have the mental capacity to figure out how. So, regardless … she isn’t Ryder’s biggest fan these days.
Suddenly, her eyes move to the front door, and I follow her gaze as the door opens. I’m pretty sure my heart stops pumping and my breath hitches in my throat. Because for the first time in far too long … I’m staring at Smith.
It’s annoying that he somehow looks even better than he did all those years ago. He’s grown up and aged like a damn fine wine. And me? I look like I’ve been hit by a dump truck. Everyone knows that when you see an ex, even if it’s one you’re over—which I totally am—you don’t want to look like dog shit. You want to look so good that they instantly realize they missed out.
Now, I just have to hope and pray his big-mouthed sister—God love her—keeps the story straight. The last thing I need is Smith trying to step in and play Superman.
I stand here, watching as my sister and Gemma open the car doors and climb out. I’m not a nervous guy. Being a professional athlete and all, I really can’t be one. Yet, when they walk toward me, I know I’m about to come face-to-face with the girl I left behind and have yet to get over.
What’s worse is, even though it’s dark out, it’s clear as day how skinny Gemma is now. The last time I saw her was at my sister’s high school graduation, and even though she’s always been slender … now, she’s smaller than she was back then.
The day of graduation, we crossed paths, and she kept her eyes fixed on anything but me. When she gave her speech before that—because, of course, Gemma was valedictorian—I got to watch her stand before her class, just like she deserved. Knowing that, after, she was headed to her dream school—Stanford. Everything had worked out exactly as it should. Proving I had done the right thing by taking myself out of her life.
Her dad had had a point when he was concerned she was going to throw her life away for me. If she had followed me to college, she wouldn’t have gone to Stanford.
Now, she’s not just here in Portland, but at Kolt’s Friendsgiving, and I have no fucking clue why. My sister moved here six months ago to be closer to her job at the hospital, so I’d have felt like an asshole if I hadn’t invited her tonight to have dinner with my team and their families. But I had no idea until about ten minutes ago that Saylor was bringing Gemma with her.
Saylor marches toward me and up the few steps before throwing her arms around me. “Hey, loser.”
“Fuck you,” I grumble as she squeezes me, and I stare at Gemma.
I take in her long brown hair that’s not styled or curled, but flows down her back in silky waves. Her expression is blank, like she’s not even in there.
As soon as our eyes meet, she looks down at the ground nervously. But that’s not what gets to me. What has my body stiffening and my fists clenching is the barely visible bruise on her cheek and the cut below it. Hell, even her bottom lip looks injured.
“What happened to you?” rushes from my mouth before I can stop it, and I wave my hand toward Gemma’s face. “ Who the fuck did that to you?”
Panic fills her face, and her skin pales. Her throat works as she swallows. She shakes her head lightly, though she’s trying to keep herself together. “I, uh … I got in a car accident the other day. Distracted driver. You know how it is.” She pauses, as if knowing she sounds like she’s bullshitting me. “Is it okay that I’m here? If not, I can totally go hang out at Saylor’s apartment.”
I glance at Saylor, who widens her eyes and gives me a do not fuck with her look.
Even though I want to get to the bottom of why Gemma looks hurt, reluctantly, I exhale slowly. “Nah, it’s all good. Come on in.”
My sister wastes no time plowing into the house, whereas Gemma is a bit slower to take the first step inside. Saylor stops, waiting for her. Once Gemma finally steps through the door, I close it behind us while they wait for me to lead the way.
Being extremely thin isn’t the only thing that’s changed. She doesn’t walk into the room the way she used to either. She isn’t standing tall or appearing confident. But instead, she looks around nervously, not making eye contact with anyone. She reminds me of a stray cat that is terrified of everyone who comes close to it. Even her body language has changed.
I have no idea why she’s here, especially since, last I heard, she’s getting married any day now. But I know one thing for sure: something has changed her. And I am going to find out what it was.
An hour later, when my sister finally heads to the kitchen without Gemma stuck to her side like glue, I follow her quickly.
It’s just us, and it’s time to get answers.
“Why is she here?” I ask, gripping the countertop. “Why isn’t she back in California with her trust-fund fiancé? Or with her parents in Wellton?”
She twists the top off the bottle of vodka before pouring herself a drink and shoots me a harsh look. “That isn’t my story to tell, Smith.” She looks around, making sure no one is in the room. “Besides, when you left without saying goodbye to her, I think you lost the right to ask.”
I grab a cup and fill it with ice. “That was six years ago, dipshit,” I groan, pouring some Jack over the ice and dumping some Coke in. “And she’s not going to tell me, so you might as well.”
She brings the plastic cup to her lips and takes a sip. Her eyes peek over it, glaring before she brings it down.
“I am not telling you a damn thing when it comes to my best friend, Smith.” There’s no mistaking the pain in my sister’s voice or the grimace on her face.
“Well, can you tell me anything? It’s obvious something’s bothering you.”
A regretful look flashes across her face. “I found out a few days ago that I got that job I’d applied for in South Carolina.” She chews her lip nervously. That’s always been my sister’s tell that she’s about to say something she really doesn’t want to. “I have to go, Smith.”
“Why do you look like someone killed your dog? That’s awesome,” I say, reaching over and slapping her shoulder. “You’ll be closer to Silas too. And farther away from me. Win-win.” I take a swig from my drink, winking.
My sister knows I’m joking around, but she will be closer to our older brother, Silas, if she moves to South Carolina.
“She is going to need to stay with you,” she says matter-of-factly. “Gem. She’s … she’s going to have to move in with you for a bit.”
I spit the drink out into the air, slamming the cup down onto the counter, and my sister scowls, looking at me like I’m a fucking pig.
“Repeat whatever it was you just said,” I choke out, still wheezing from my drink. “Because I swore you said something along the lines of, Gemma is going to stay with me . And I know that couldn’t possibly be what you said. You’re a fucking wack job, but you’re not that insane.”
For a moment, she just stares at me.
“That is what I said,” she answers softly. “And before you freak out, know this: I wouldn’t even consider this if I thought there was another option. After all, you ruined her life when she was seventeen, and I don’t think she or I have forgiven you for that.”
Nothing about this makes sense. Did Gemma and I have a fling right around the time I was graduating high school? Yes. Did I love her? Also, yes. But that was a long time ago. And she went on to live the life she’d always dreamed of. All because I’d left her behind so that I wouldn’t hold her back. So, why does she need me now?
“I must be fucking drunk because there’s no way you’re really standing here, telling me that your best friend—who is engaged , by the way—is going to move into my house. With me.”
“Stop,” she whispers, looking toward the living room before her eyes move back to mine. “I can’t tell you her story, but I can tell you that she isn’t engaged anymore. And for the time being, she can’t live alone.” Her eyes are begging me not to ask any questions, but, fucking A, that’s impossible. “So, when I leave next week, she’s moving in with you.”
“And she’s okay with that? She’s fine with being my fucking roommate?”
“Well … she will be.” She swallows, cringing. “She doesn’t know yet.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” I utter, shaking my head at my sister. “Why would she? I mean, why would the two people who are going to have to shack up know about it until Friends-fucking-giving, when we’re supposed to be getting drunk and eating pie?” I stop, shaking my head. “And what do you mean, she isn’t engaged anymore?” My eyes narrow, and my shoulders tense. “Wasn’t an accident, was it?” I growl low. “That fucker did that to her face, didn’t he?” The veins in my neck ache as they bulge. “Saylor, if he fucking put a finger on her, I’m going to California to fucking kill him right now.”
“I’m not telling you what happened between them, Smith. She’s my best friend.”
“And I’m your brother ,” I say quickly. “And she and I, well, we—”
“You two are nothing,” she hisses, stopping me. “So, can she move in with you, or are you going to continue being a little bitch. ”
Before I can answer, a smirk spreads across her face. “You know what? I bet Tripp would let her move in with him. Or one of the other Sharks.” She taps her chin. “I do believe I’ll go ask.”
She turns, but before she can take one step, I grab her arm.
“Stop,” I grumble. “Fine. She can move in with me.” I hold my sister’s eyes harshly. “But if I find out he intentionally hurt her, I’m going to kill him and put his body in a spot no one will ever find him. Or a place so deep in the ocean that no one could dive down there to find him. And even if they could, by then, the crabs and bottom-feeders would already have torn him apart, limb by limb.” I narrow my eyes. “Understand?”
She rolls her eyes, shoving me gently. “Whatever.”
As she walks off, I lean forward on the counter and look down at the ground.
What the fuck did my sister just get me into?