Chapter 8
Josephine
With Kylian settled up in the Nest, and Locke and Kendrick at practice, dinner was a smaller affair. Hunter, Greedy, and I ate at the barstools along the kitchen island.
Decker didn’t make an appearance, but I swear I could feel his brooding presence lording over the house. For the first time, maybe ever, I didn’t have the energy or fire to match him. I still don’t. Avoidance is probably the best strategy for now. Especially given who sat beside me while we ate.
His biggest rival. In his house. All because of me.
Greedy’s been uncharacteristically quiet since we arrived, which makes sense—I’d be on edge too if I had invited myself into the den of my enemy just days before I had to face them on the field.
Mrs. Lansbury kept a watchful eye over us as we ate, insisting on scooping out second helpings for all three of us, despite our protests. Not that we put up that much of a fight. Her creamy lemon chicken pasta was the comfort food equivalent of a hot bath and a stiff drink.
Whether for my benefit or Hunter’s, Greedy mostly kept to himself. He’d ask a question now and again, and he spoke to Mrs. Lansbury when she came by to check on us. But otherwise, it was like he wasn’t even there.
Hunter and I talked nonstop, as if by filling the lulls in conversation, we could avoid talking about topics too heavy to tackle right now.
We worked out study plans for midterms, and she explained the Logic homework I’ve fallen woefully behind on.
We also made plans to go to lunch after class on Monday, although I warned her that Kylian would most likely tag along.
I can’t imagine he’ll let me out of his sight once he fulfills his end of the bargain and actually sleeps.
Plus, he said he’d take me to Sam’s on Monday, and I’m anxious to check in with my uncle.
Needing something to do with my hands, I insisted Mrs. Lansbury allow me to clean up the kitchen, but I shooed my friends out of the room so I could have my first moment of alone time today.
Greedy excused himself to the in-home gym, but only after helping rinse the dishes, and Hunter eventually ambled out onto the deck to listen to her audiobook after she asked me half a dozen times if I was sure I didn’t want help.
I’m wiping down the island for the second time to keep myself occupied when Locke and Kendrick get home from practice.
“Have you eaten? There’s still plenty,” I offer, indicating the container of leftovers I have yet to stash in the fridge.
“We ate,” Locke confirms, his attention jumping all around the kitchen, yet never landing on me.
Kendrick saunters past his friend and drops his bag at the foot of the stairs before he circles back.
Prowling toward me, he takes me in from head to toe in an assessment that makes me squirm.
He stops less than two feet in front of me—so close, I’m surrounded by the intoxicating aroma of his aftershave, musk, and warm vanilla. They swirl together in a scent I secretly want to roll around in.
His signature scowl pulls his brows together. “All good, Ohio?”
Gulping past the trepidation rising up inside me in response to his uncharacteristic behavior, I nod.
“Yep,” I confirm with a false sense of cheer.
“All good here. Hunter’s on the deck, and Greedy asked if he could lift in the weight room, so Mrs. Lansbury showed him the way.
” I bite down on my lip, hoping that’s enough of a report.
“And Kylian?” he presses.
In my periphery, Locke’s focus turns to me. Finally.
“He’s okay,” I hedge. “It took some convincing, but eventually, he went up to the Nest to sleep.”
A smirk pulls at the corners of Kendrick’s mouth. “I’ll bet,” he murmurs with a pointed look. Then, softer, he adds, “You should try to get some rest, too.”
Before I have time to reply, he turns and strides to the stairs, scoops up his bag, and disappears.
I blink in slow motion, unsure of what to make of the longest and most civil exchange I’ve ever shared with my most tempestuous roommate.
Worrying my bottom lip, I glance at Locke.
“Did that really just happen?” I joke.
He shrugs, offering the same too-tight smile he’s been doling out since this afternoon.
He comes closer, dropping his bag at his feet, and with a sigh, he lowers his forearms to the back of a barstool and angles a little closer. “Kendrick’s a tough guy on the outside, but he was worried about you. We all were.”
Nodding, I accept the admission for what it is and let the knowledge warm me just a little.
“Why didn’t Decker go with you to practice?”
I didn’t connect the dots at first, but Decker was still on the phone when we sat down to eat. After that, he headed to his room without uttering a word to any of us.
Locke grips the back of the barstool and cracks his neck from side to side.
“Concussion protocol. He can’t participate in team workouts. The training staff will assess him in the morning, and if he meets all the requirements, he can come to practice tomorrow afternoon.”
Shit. Between the flurry of activity leading up to Shore Week and then my stint in the hospital, I had all but forgotten about Decker’s concussion.
“He’s okay though, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. He’s going to be okay.” Locke gives me a single nod, but he doesn’t elaborate.
I don’t dare push. We’re at a standstill, out of topics to discuss that don’t relate to the one the thing we desperately need to talk about. An awkward charge buzzes between us, leaving us separated by the island and all that’s gone to shit over the last few days.
The half smiles and standoffishness confuse the hell out of me.
I didn’t expect him to go full out like Kylian, but my reunion with Locke has been prickly at best and downright cold at moments.
It’s so incongruent with the passion we shared just last weekend.
I think that’s what hurts the most: all that’s changed is something that happened to me—that I had no control over, nor did I have a hand in orchestrating.
Prior to the Charter Cruise, Locke and I were in an amazing place. And now we’re just… not.
My life has taken a nose-dive because of situation and circumstance more than once. Time and again, I’ve persevered, yet I thought I had already survived the worst of it. I thought life here—in this place, with this fresh start, with this man—would be different.
That I could be different.
That maybe I really could rewrite my story.
Hope and optimism drift away with each exhale. So much of the life I dreamed of creating evaporates into the ether as we stand in awkward silence.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” I try, desperate to busy myself with a task.
“I ate,” he assures me. “I’m good.”
“How about that chat, then?”
Grimacing, Locke blows out a long breath. He rakes an inked hand through his still-damp hair, then inclines his head in my direction.
“Yeah. Okay,” he relents.
The hesitation in every one of his movements does nothing for the deep sense of dread pooling in my gut.
“Media room?” I suggest.
It’ll give us some semblance of privacy since we can close and lock the door. With Greedy in the house, that separation feels necessary.
He follows me down the hall while memories of last weekend poke at my resolve. Our conversation, the way we razzed each other about movie choices, the hope that had bloomed inside me at our reconnection. It was days ago, yet I’m already feeling nostalgic about that time.
Locke plops down on the couch and spreads himself wide: arms splayed on the back cushions, his feet planted shoulder-width apart.
I accept his standoffishness for what it is and elect to perch on the armrest.
It all feels painfully distant. Awful, and so wrong. But we need to come clean and communicate about where things stand between us if we want to move forward.
I want him. I haven’t stopped wanting him since the moment he put his number in my phone on the first day of class. I won’t force him to accept the version of our relationship that I have in my head if he’s not okay with all that’s transpired, though.
“Kylian and I talked earlier,” I start, cracking my knuckles in my lap. It’s a bad habit, but one I’ve never been able to break.
He sucks in a long breath, then lets his head loll along the back of the couch so he can see me.
“I figured.” The disenchanted smile that accompanies the statement makes my stomach twist. “You two are together,” he guesses, turning away from me again and focusing on the blank projector screen across the room.
“We are.”
“Yeah. Okay. Well, that’s good, I guess.
The last few days have been horrible for all of us, but especially Kyl.
He really needs you.” He’s quiet for two breaths, then he lets out a humorless laugh.
“Damn. I honestly didn’t see it coming, though.
It’s usually Decker, ya know? Once or twice it’s been Kendrick. It’s never been Kylian before.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask what he means, but before I can, he continues.
“I’m happy for him—for you, too. When I saw how he reacted…
” He sighs, then stares down at his hands resting in his lap.
“Look, we don’t have to do this. After everything you’ve been through this week, neither of us needs any more pain.
” He casts another sympathetic half smile in my direction.
“We’re all exhausted, and I’ve read enough Nietzsche to accept that this is what it is.
” Hands still in his lap, he squeezes them into fists, then flexes his knuckles tenderly.
“Take care of yourself, Hot Girl,” he laments, pushing to his feet in a slow but sure motion. “Assuming you’re sticking around, I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
Confusion fogs my mind and a razor-sharp pain lances my chest as I scramble to sort out the meaning of his words. Because of the bleakness of the moment, or maybe the highs and extreme lows of the last few days, tears well in my eyes without my permission.