Chapter 43
Josephine
I sip through the pink paper straw Hunter insisted we use in our Tom Collinses and set my glass on the table where we usually have family dinner. It’s a warm, breezy night; the epitome of fall in the south, according to my bestie.
“Your turn, babe,” I declare, picking up the bottle of top coat and waving at her, gesturing for her to hold out her left hand. “Truth or truth?”
As much as I miss the guys, I can’t remember the last time I felt as light and free as I do right this second.
For once, the mantra I rely on so often to ground me feels more like a prayer of gratitude.
I am here. This is now.
This is what living feels like.
Hunter and I slept until noon, only rolling out of bed because the growls coming from her stomach were comically loud. Mrs. Lansbury has been around all weekend waiting on us, even though she’s usually off when the boys have away games.
Over and over, I’ve insisted that we’re fine and that she should take the day off.
But it’s clear she revels in taking care of people, and I can’t deny how lovely it’s been to eat so much yummy food without having to do the work ourselves.
She’s spoiled us with shrimp pasta and she-crab soup and whipped up the simplest yet most incredible fruit salad and broccoli salad.
The broccoli salad has called my name all day.
Every time I pass the fridge, I have to reach in and pluck out another piece. It’s that good.
We studied plenty. Put on our suits and sunbathed on the docked pontoon. Napped. Now we’re sitting out on the deck, enjoying a plate of fresh-baked cookies and sipping drinks while I do our nails.
“Truth,” she finally answers through a mouthful of chocolate chip goodness.
Holding my bottom lip between my teeth, I smooth the clear top coat over her thumb. When I’m finished, I inspect my work, then move on to her right hand.
I glance at my best friend, then focus on her nails again before I ask, “Have you ever been in love?”
I fully expect her to laugh. To blow me off. To recoil or quickly change the subject.
Hunter is amazing—brilliant and kind, beautiful and caring—but despite how much I’ve divulged about my past, she’s still not forthcoming about a lot of hers.
I don’t take it personally. If anything, I get it. Trauma knows trauma when it sees it. A person can only shine so brightly for so long before the truth peeks through the cracks.
So when she heaves in a deep breath and sits up straighter, I’m shocked.
“My senior year of high school. I was so in love I didn’t think I’d ever have the capacity to feel another emotion for the rest of my life. It was… everything.”
Her expression is mournful when I look up and meet her gaze. There’s a wistfulness in the way she sighs, as if she’s really, truly known love. Only it’s in the past, and she doesn’t expect to ever experience it again.
I’m so disarmed by her candor that it barely registers when she quickly flips the script and turns the questioning back to me.
“Your turn. Truth or truth, Joey Meyer?”
I finish applying the top coat and twist the cap on before replying. “Truth.”
“Are you in love?”
I don’t miss the change in tense.
I scrunch up my nose, only slightly embarrassed by the gush of emotion that takes over when I think about the guys.
“I think I am,” I admit.
Her resounding squeal is so loud Mrs. Lansbury pops her head out to check on us.
“Everything all right, dears?”
“Yes!” I insist, my cheeks heating.
If she’s overheard anything we’ve been talking about tonight, I’ll be mortified.
I’ve never felt judged by Mrs. Lansbury, and I’m certain she’s witnessed enough of the little gestures and interactions between the boys and me to suspect there’s something going on with, well, all of them, but that doesn’t mean she wants to hear the sordid details.
Once the sliding glass door is firming in place, Hunter doubles down.
“Okay. Spill it, sister. Which one? Or should I say which ones?” She waggles her brows at me.
Now that it’s just the two of us, I can’t hide my grin, and I don’t bother suppressing the warmth radiating from my center.
I’m not embarrassed by the relationships that have emerged between the guys and me.
I want them all. They want me, too. We’re figuring it out—and there’s no denying the end result I hope and pray can become a reality.
“Kylian for sure. He actually said the words to me the other day.”
Across from me, Hunter’s expression melts, and she sighs dreamily.
“And I think I’m in love with Kendrick, too, even though he was the last one I ever thought I’d end up with.” I roll my eyes, still baffled by how naturally things fell into place with LCU’s star running back.
The sands shifted below us so quickly and irrevocably. It’s like the intensity of his loathing flipped and was instantly replaced by a love just as consuming.
There’s passion and physical yearning, and he radiates this deep sense of care and sacrifice. Always. I feel it deep in my bones when he looks at me and when he holds me and when he makes love to me at night.
Kendrick’s love fills a vacancy inside me I thought would remain empty for life. It’s the kind of love most people only ever experience within a tightknit family. It’s unconditional, soul-mate level magic.
“I think he loves me, too. Or at the very least, we’re heading in that direction.”
Scooting a little closer to the table, I inspect my own nails, noticing a blemish near the cuticle of my ring finger. I’ll have to find an orange stick and take care of that later.
“Wait, what about Locke?” Hunter presses.
I force my attention to her again and give her a sad, sincere smile. Locke and I have had so many ups and downs in such a short amount of time. I want nothing more than to be in a steady place with him, but we just haven’t found it yet, and I’m beginning to worry we might never land there.
Sighing, I sit back, surveying the sun as it sinks into the lake, then turn back to my friend. “When things are good with Nicky, they’re good. Like so good. Effortless. Authentic.”
Honestly, Locke’s brand of love feels the most natural to me. He doesn’t overthink it. There’s practically no effort at all on my part to exist by his side. He’s everything I want. Well, he and his friends. That dynamic, thankfully, isn’t an issue for him, either.
Yet I don’t know what to make of how easy it is for him to pull back, as if what we share isn’t anywhere near as important to him as it is to me.
“It doesn’t always feel like he wants me. Not fully. When things get hard, he backs off, like maybe he’s losing interest. I don’t know if it’s from the pain, or…”
I trail off, because damn, that sounds so self-centered. Like I can’t get enough attention.
“The back and forth is hard. Maybe we’re not as well-matched as I originally thought.”
Sighing, I sip from my drink and survey the pinks and oranges flooding the sky behind Hunter.
“I want to love him… I do. But something’s missing. The ease I feel with Kylian and Kendrick, how good each of those connections is, only makes the disconnect with Locke that much more apparent.”
“Do you want compassion or advice?” Hunter asks, crossing her legs and settling back in her seat.
God, I love this girl. She could teach a masterclass in friendship. Since I met her, she’s taught me lesson after lesson in girl time and sisterhood I never thought I’d be privy to.
I don’t have to tell her I appreciate her, though. She knows. And that’s what's missing with Locke, I realize. The assurance. The security. The connection we can both count on, even when things get hard.
“I’ll take some advice if you’ve got it,” I concede, reaching for my drink and draining the rest of it through the ridiculous pink straw.
Hunter snags her glass as well, assessing the now-soggy straw she insisted on with a scowl. She sets the straw on a napkin, then throws back the rest of her beverage, too, hopping to her feet as if she’s ready to deliver her closing arguments.
“You know I grew up with them,” she starts, standing behind her chair.
Silently, I nod. It’s one of the few things I do know about Hunter’s past.
“Kendrick was in my kindergarten class. Kylian sat beside me in second grade. I was assigned to be Decker’s cheerleader in middle school.”
“Wait,” I demand, sitting a little straighter. “What does that mean, you were his cheerleader?”
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips. “Exactly what it sounds like. Welcome to the south, girl. It’s archaic and gross, but starting in sixth grade, cheerleaders are ‘assigned’ a player to dote on and support.
We’re supposed to make them brownies and paint their numbers on our cheek at the games.
It’s like a twisted southern form of matchmaking.
Half the girls I graduated from high school with are already engaged to their assigned football player. ”
My eyes go wide, but Hunter just gives me a knowing look.
“I needed a sports bra by the time I was ten,” she admits, sweeping a hand dismissively over her impressive tits, “and I’m a natural blond, so of course I would be assigned to the kid who was football royalty and destined to be the star quarterback. ”
“Okay.”
She’s right. It all sounds archaic and odd and disturbing. It doesn’t answer any of the questions consuming me, though.
“How does any of that relate to Locke?”
“Trust me. I’m getting there,” she promises, plopping back down into the chair opposite me and crossing her long, tan legs.
“When Locke started coming around, he wasn’t always in the fold.
He missed a lot of events because of doctor’s appointments and illness.
Sometimes, though, he just didn’t insert himself enough.
Honestly, it was probably Kylian’s steadfastness and hyper-focus on having a best friend that secured Locke’s place in the group once and for all. ”
I can’t help but smile at that. I’m intimately acquainted with what it feels like to be on the receiving end of Kylian Walsh’s specific brand of love.
“I don’t think he’s one foot out because he wants to be,” she hedges. “Think of how he grew up. Think of how he talks about himself, his life, his plans. He’s one foot out because that’s all he’s ever known, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“It’s self-preservation,” I murmur, the realization slamming into me with so much blatant force it takes my breath away. Not because it’s a shocking revelation, but because it’s one I’ve lived myself. How didn’t I recognize it sooner?
“If I had to play armchair therapist, I would guess that he needs more reassurance… and maybe more time? He’s probably your hardest to love because he’s comparing himself or worried he’s not worthy or concerned that he may not have the ability to reciprocate all the time.”
“But he’s beyond worthy,” I protest.
She smiles serenely, nodding. “There ya go. You have your answer.”
I let out a long, heavy sigh. The insight she’s given me is so, so valuable, yet I can’t help but chide myself for not seeing it sooner.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. The guys are probably just getting back to the locker room after the game.
For as much as I resisted traveling with them, I really do miss them.
I checked in with Decker at halftime.
Kylian texted me the final score after the Crusaders won.
Kendrick posted a game-day photo on social media, then slid into my DMs with a private picture just for me. Sweaty abs and football pants do it for me. I couldn’t hit Save Image fast enough when his borderline NSFW pic came through.
On instinct, I scroll down to my text thread with Locke and shoot off a message.
Hot Girl: Hey you. Great game tonight. Kyl sent me the highlights. I miss you and can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
He replies just a few seconds later.
Emo Boy: Ya know, just because we’re in separate states doesn’t mean I can’t see you tonight…
I grin, but I then silently scold myself. It’s easy to default to the physical with Locke. He’s gorgeous, and our chemistry is palpable. But that wasn’t the point of reaching out to him. More than anything, I want him to know how special he is and how sincerely committed I am to him.
Hot Girl: Raincheck on the phone sex. Get some rest, Nicky. I can’t wait until you’re home and I can be in your arms again.
Emo Boy: You’re killin’ me, Hot Girl. But I’ll tell the guys you checked in
Hot Girl: No need. This isn’t a check-in. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.
I send three heart emojis to drive the point home and promise myself I’ll make a more concerted, consistent effort with Locke. He deserves to know how much I want him—not just physically, but in all other ways, too.
He makes me feel so good. I want to make him feel the same.
“Okay, this is too heavy,” Hunter says, smacking her palm against the table. “We’ve got the whole Crusade Mansion to ourselves. We’re supposed to be having fun. What are we doing for the rest of the night?”
“Want to watch a movie, get crumbs all over Decker’s favorite chair, then go to bed early?”
Hunter grins. “A girl after my own heart.”
“Don’t forget, tomorrow—”
“Oh, believe me. I have not forgotten,” she assures me. “I’ve got everything stashed in my trunk at the marina.”
“The guys expect to be back in the late afternoon, so we should probably head across the lake after lunch.” I worry my lip, running through the plan I’ve had in place since the night I met Kendrick’s sisters.
I think it’s funny, but things have changed drastically over the last few weeks. Is it still funny?
“Admittedly, five hundred might have been a few too many,” I concede.
“Nah,” Hunter dismisses with a wave of her freshly manicured hand. “It’s perfect. Uncle Ducky won’t know what hit him.”