1. Chapter 1 Brownies & Broken Promises
Jenna: Twenty-Two Years Earlier
Another new school. Another round of stares, like there’s a neon sign over my head that says NEW KID. And nothing new. Every time my mom ditches another loser, we pack up and “start fresh.” It’s chaotic. Exhausting. But I tell myself this is my chance to rewrite the story.
This time feels different. The city buzzes with this cool energy I’m not used to. Skyscrapers, endless noise, people too busy to care about little old me. Maybe here, I’ll easily blend in and survive the last year of high school.
I tug on the straps of my worn-out backpack and scan the room. I hope no one notices me.
“New girl! Over here!”
So much for that. A girl with untamed blonde curls streaked with electric blue waves me over.
She’s wearing a bright pink dress and combat boots that look as bold as her personality.
She's got this whole Kate Hudson vibe going on.
Sexy and cute without even trying. Meanwhile, my long dark hair, white tee, and baggy jeans make me feel invisible.
The only thing that stands out? My green eyes.
And my bright yellow sneakers—the color of sunshine, which, ironically, I have very little of in my life.
“Hey, I’m Izzy,” she says, radiating confidence that pulls me in without even trying.
"Jenna," I murmur, sliding into the seat beside her.
Izzy grins. "Well, Jenna, if you need school gossip, tips on the hottest guys, or someone to cheat you out of detention, I’m your girl.”
I laugh despite myself. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Though my boyfriend might not love the ‘hottest guys’ part.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Long-distance boyfriend? At seventeen? Let me guess—jealous, dramatic, and a whole lot of work?”
Ryan’s face flashes through my mind. Complicated doesn’t cover it. But I love him. Or at least, I think I do.
Izzy smiles. “Stick with me long enough, and you’ll ditch the drama. Boys are stupid and overrated anyway.”
That’s the thing I’d later learn about Izzy—she makes life feel lighter. She never asks too many questions. Never forces me to unpack my heavy baggage. And she’s everything I’m not—fearless, unapologetic, full of life. And somehow, after just a few weeks, she’s becoming my person.
By March, the school hallways buzz with spring break plans. After weeks of late-night study sessions and trying too hard to fit in, I’m drained and could use a break.
One night, my phone lights up.
Izzy: March break, baby!! Sleepover at my place. No parents, no rules. Special brownies included.
I hesitate. As close as we’ve gotten, it’s super weird I’ve never been to her house.
She never really talks about her family, and when she does, it’s not exactly heartwarming.
That makes me a little nervous about meeting them.
Once, she joked about her dad canceling her birthday party because her mom showed up.
“It’s fine,” she said, laughing. “He bought me a new phone instead. Totally worth it.”
Another time, she admitted she wished she could live with only her mom.
But her dad has the money, the credit cards, the control—so she puts up with him.
I never push. I get it. If you don’t talk about it, it’s not real.
And who the hell wants to talk about their parents’ dragged-out divorce anyway?
Sometimes, I wonder if the reason she’s always chasing fun is because she never had it growing up.
Still, the idea of a night without supervision is tempting. I ask my mom, and she waves me off with a distracted “yes,” too preoccupied with boyfriend number sixty-nine to care. I shove that thought aside. I’ve learned to act like my mom prioritizing her love life over me doesn’t bother me.
Ryan, though? He might get angry… maybe possessive.
It started with little things—constant check-ins, casual questions about who I was texting.
He says it’s because he cares. That he worries.
And I believe him. But now, if I don’t answer fast enough, his mood shifts. It becomes dark and unpredictable.
I make a mental note to text him often, so he doesn’t freak out and ruin my night. Then rush through chores so my mom has zero excuses to change her mind. When it’s finally time, I grab my duffel bag and catch the bus for what feels like the longest ride of my life. Izzy texts again.
Izzy: My cousins and a few other girls are coming too. Get ready for drama.
Normally, I’d rather not hang out with a bunch of people I don’t know.
But today I don’t care, because it’s my first real sleepover.
I know—pathetic, right? The girl across from me, clutching her designer bag, keeps staring like she knows it too.
As the ride goes on, the townhouses fade, and the houses start getting bigger. Then bigger. Is this the right stop?
I step off the bus and start walking, taking in my surroundings.
My eyes go wide. Enormous mansions. Perfectly manicured lawns.
Expensive cars. My jaw drops as I head up a long, winding driveway that looks longer than my entire street.
There’s a fountain spitting water from some gargoyle’s mouth, and three luxury cars I’ve only seen in movies parked out front.
I stop and unzip my bag to double-check the address I scribbled on a piece of paper.
Shit. I’m at the right house. What the actual hell. I think about all the times I vented about my mom dating men to help pay our bills. How I swore I’d never rely on a man. And now I’m standing in front of this.
Feeling completely out of place, I ring the doorbell, struggling with the zipper that still won’t close. The chime echoes. This better be the right place, or I’m about to die of embarrassment. I smooth my hair and adjust my jacket, but there’s no use. My messy bun and I do not belong here.
As I raise my hand to knock again, the door opens.
And I freeze.
Not Izzy. A guy. A hot, tall guy.
Broad shoulders. Thick forearms. Dark hair. Deep brown eyes that hold secrets you want to unravel. And that smirk? Trouble. Just not for me. Definitely not for me. I don’t need more problems from boys. I have enough to last a lifetime.
“Uh, hi, um… I'm here for Izzy.” The words spill out awkwardly. Fantastic. I’ve forgotten how to speak.
His amused smile makes my stomach do a little somersault.
Seriously, why the hell did I think it was a good idea to wear cat-print pajamas and worn-out dog slippers?
I must look like I’m twelve. Before he can respond, Izzy flies down the spiral staircase, a giant chandelier sparkling over her.
“Jacob, upstairs. Now!” she says, half-laughing, half-annoyed.
“Sorry, this is my brother. Ignore him.”
Not sure I can ignore eyes that look like that.
“Jacob, this is Jenna.” She shoots me an apologetic look. “She and her mom just moved to Nashville.”
Jacob leans against the door frame, studying me like I’m interesting. “Cool. Where’d you move from?”
Such a simple question, yet a knot forms in my throat. Explaining my life in a few words isn’t easy. “Uh, well… my mom moves us around a lot. She has a thing for starting over.”
And ruining my life every time she chases a new guy.
Jacob’s brow lifts. “Sounds like a fascinating life. Maybe this can be your final destination.”
Izzy interrupts, groaning. “Alright, Romeo, move along. It’s not time to get all deep and philosophical.”
Jacob smirks, unbothered. “Correction—cool and very hot brother,” he adds with a wink. “Let me know if you girls need milk and cookies later.”
I barely roll my eyes before Izzy grabs my arms, pulling me upstairs. “Come on, I need you. The other girls are already getting on my nerves.”
I glance back just in time to see Jacob watching me—only to miss my step. My backpack slips from my shoulder, the zipper still undone, and everything spills across the shiny marble floor. Books, a journal, and—oh God, not my—
In an instant, he’s beside me, crouching to gather my things. “Nice yellow undies, Jenna,” he says, his lips twitching. “Didn’t peg you as a polka-dot kind of girl.”
Mortified, I snatch everything from his hands. “Geez, thanks. Real mature.”
His smile deepens. “First, I’m a very mature nineteen-year-old. Second, I don’t date Izzy’s friends. Third—”
“Jacob!” Izzy’s voice cuts through the tension as she bolts back down the stairs. “My brownies are burning!”
Jacob gets up laughing and spares me the rest of his explanation before disappearing after her.
I stand there, clutching my underwear, looking around.
Her house is insane. Abstract art that belongs in a museum, plush furniture that begs you to sit on it, and the chandelier that probably costs more than my mom’s car.
Izzy reappears moments later, holding a plate of burnt brownies.
“Seriously?” I nudge her. “Why have we been hanging out in my crappy apartment instead of this dream house?”
She chuckles, her hazel eyes lighting up. “Because I needed to know you weren’t hanging out with me only for my money. Consider this your prize for passing the friendship test.”
“Fair enough.” I can’t blame her for that. I pull her into a hug before devouring a brownie—then freeze. Shit. I forgot these are special. Last time I ate these, I ended up wearing my bra on my head and trying to make out with the fridge. I swallow the last bite and hope for the best.
We head to the living room, where fairy-lit teepees, matching silk robes, and trays of snacks wait.
It’s something straight out of a magazine.
Hanna, the loud and obnoxious one, is already sprawled across a recliner, mascara smudged, and hair a knotted mess.
Autumn and Jaslene, Izzy’s cousins, are giggling over some inside joke.
And Britt, with her stupid flawless skin and hair, could make even sweatpants look hot.
I wonder why Izzy even invited them. They aren’t close. Maybe just here for free snacks and drama.
“Truth or dare!” Hanna screams.