EIGHTEEN
SERENA
I stare at my phone on the couch beside me, fingers hovering over Chase’s name. It’s Monday night—three days since the fair. Three days since the Ferris wheel. Since Chase almost?—
Don’t go there.
I groan, raking a hand through my hair.
“You could call him, you know?” Liv shouts from the kitchen. A second later, she appears in the doorway in sweatpants and one of Jensen’s old college tees, a spoon in her hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other.
“I know.” I reach for the nutrition book in my lap, pretending I’ve been reading. Again. The truth is, I haven’t made it past the first page all weekend. “I just…”
“Don’t know where you stand after the almost kiss in the dark at the fair,” she finishes, dropping onto the couch beside me and shooting me a teasing look, reminding me we’ve talked about the almost kiss and what it means endlessly this weekend.
“His flight landed from Miami this morning. I thought he might call or swing by the stadium to say hi.”
“The guy got trounced by the Tidalrunners yesterday, and then it hit the news this morning that the Stormhawks are officially selling to a secret buyer, so maybe?—”
“I should’ve called him,” I finish. Feeling torn. The news about the sale has thrown all of us. Most of the cheer squad have called or stopped by today, wanting reassurance we can’t give. We’re all reeling, wondering if we’ll have a job when the dust settles after the sale. Or if the budget cuts will push one of us out first.
Before the fake dating, I know I would’ve called Chase. Given him a pep talk and shared a useless fact on the mating practices of giant tortoises to make him laugh.
“And you haven’t because…”
The answer screams in my head. Because the box I put all my feelings for Chase in, and thought was gone forever, isn’t just back, isn’t just cracked. It’s wide open. Obliterated. And I might as well be sixteen again, lying on a blanket with Chase in one of the empty paddocks, counting stars and goofing around, praying he’ll turn onto his side and see me as more than his friend. Because I love him. I love him, I want him, I need him. He is my person. My everything. That’s why I haven’t called. Because I don’t know how to stuff these feelings back in the box again.
I sigh. “Because I don’t know what it means that he was going to kiss me. Or if it meant anything to him.” I drop my head into my hands, my next words coming out in a mumble. “I’m so confused.”
Her expression softens, but her words don’t let me off the hook. “Maybe you are confused. Or maybe you’re terrified to find out. Either way, you’ve got to decide what you’re going to do, Serena. Because, ignoring him? That’s not you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Liv checks the time and pulls a face.
“Go,” I insist.
“I don’t have to.”
“Jensen’s expecting you tonight, right? You know he’s going to have a candlelit bath waiting. And I have a fake boyfriend, who I’m secretly falling for, to call and pretend that we’re just friends.”
“Is it wrong that I kinda want to stay just to hear that train wreck of a conversation?”
I laugh. “Yes. Now go.”
Liv reaches over and hugs me before leaping up and hurrying to her bedroom to get changed, and I’m left thinking how fast the last three years living here have gone. It was Dylan’s apartment to start with, but he sublet it to us when he moved back to the ranch after his ACL tear, and we were sick of the dripping tap and tiny living room of our old place. Eventually we took over the contract direct with the landlord. We’ve made it cozy. A ridiculous number of throw pillows piled on the couch, and every corner is dotted with houseplants. The walls are lined with framed photos: me and Liv in our cheer uniforms, Elle and my nieces around a campfire, Chase and I at Oakwood Ranch, both of us laughing so hard the photo is slightly blurred.
I love this apartment, but the thought of sharing this space with a stranger makes my stomach drop. The only women I know who aren’t married or already partnered up are on the cheer team. And they’re all squeezing their social lives in between two jobs, evening practice, and game day performances. I don’t want to feel like the one waiting for someone to come home. I want noise and laughter and fun. Mostly, I want Chase. And that realization causes a hollow ache to spread through my chest.
Five minutes later, Liv is blowing me a kiss and bouncing out the door with her overnight bag, and I flop onto the sofa and flip through the TV until I land on a documentary about African elephants I’ve seen before. It doesn’t matter. I’m not really watching. My head’s spinning with thoughts of Chase. Liv is right, avoiding each other isn’t us.
I’m reaching for my phone when I catch the thud of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the top floor. I pause. Listen. There are only two apartments on this floor and our neighbors, Felix and Ash, are both chefs and are hardly ever home this time of night. I’m halfway to telling myself it’s a food delivery with the wrong address or Liv back because she forgot something when there’s a bang on my door.
Loud.
Urgent.
Angry.
Another bang. Then a voice that makes me freeze. “Serena?” Ryan calls from the other side of the door. Panic flares in my chest. I grab the remote, muting the TV as I hold my breath. In the silence that follows, the only sound is the pounding of my heart in my ears.
What the hell is Ryan doing here?
There’s another rapid-fire bang of a fist on wood. I’m suddenly aware of how flimsy the apartment door is. How the only thing between him and me is a piece of wood and a thin key-turn latch that I’m not sure would hold against a determined shove.
“I need to talk to you,” Ryan shouts. “I know you’re in there. I saw the light. I heard the TV. Come on, Serena, open the door.” The words are slurred. He sounds drunk. Really drunk.
I stand and edge back toward my bedroom, grabbing my phone from the couch as I go. Another bang.
“Please,” he says, tone wheedling. It’s almost enough to make me relent. I take a step toward the door, but then another bang comes, rattling the door so hard, it’s not the catch I’m worried about but the hinges, too. “You didn’t need to get me fired.” Any softness to his voice is gone. Replaced with something dark and venomous.
Fired? What the hell? I was planning to have a quiet word with Gina in HR later this week. She’s a total sweetheart, and I know I can trust her to give me the best advice for how to handle Ryan’s blackmail attempt. I know Gina will have my back. I should’ve gone straight to see her last week, but I was too angry on Thursday to think clearly, and Gina doesn’t work on Fridays or Mondays.
I reach my bedroom and slip inside, pushing the door quietly shut, even though I know it won’t make a difference if Ryan breaks in. I unlock my phone and hesitate. I consider calling the police. My fingers hover over the keypad, heart pounding. But what would I say? That my ex is outside, yelling and drunk? That he’s banging on the door and I feel scared. It sounds like nothing. Like an overreaction. Like something I should be able to handle myself.
If I call Liv, she’ll turn around and come straight back, but I don’t like the anger in Ryan’s tone, and there’s no way I’m putting Liv in danger.
I think of waiting Ryan out. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe this is just a bad decision brought on by too many drinks. But then another round of pounding comes, followed by Ryan’s angry jeer, “Open the door, Serena,” and I know he’s not going away. I need to do something.
My breath comes in short bursts as I tap call, reaching out to the one person I know will help. The one person I trust over any other. The one person who will drop everything, no matter what, to be here—Chase.
It doesn’t matter that things between us are complicated or undefined. It wouldn’t matter if we were on the other side of the world or hadn’t spoken for a year; if I needed him or him me, we’d be there. Period. I hit call, barely able to hear the ring tone over the roar of blood in my ears. Ryan screams my name. In the next second, he throws himself against the door, and I swear the walls of my room tremble. Even if Chase comes, it might be too late.