2. The 3 a.m. Rule
COLE
It was true in college, and it’s even more true now.
So when my best friend’s name had flashed across my screen, only two thoughts entered my head.
One, someone died.
Two, Junie.
It’s only been twenty-four hours since that phone call, and my life has already been turned upside down as a result.
I created a goddamn TikTok account just to keep tabs on the situation, but all I’ve managed to do is memorize the heartbreak I saw in Junie’s eyes.
A social media meltdown shouldn’t be the thing that scares me.
But it does.
It plays in my mind as clearly as on a phone screen.
Junie’s standing on a bar top I recognize—Brookline’s Square Tavern.
And thanks to Fen and his group chat obsession, I know she worked there all through college and grad school.
Behind her is a banner that reads: Happy MBA Graduation, Junie!
It should have been a celebration, but instead, my girl was crying.
“Fuck.”
Juniper Marie Mercer is not, has never been, and can never be my girl.
Which was exactly why I left Boston. I couldn’t be the one to blow up both our lives.
I blink feverishly, but the scene of her current downfall is burned into my retinas.
Mascara streaks her face with tracks of black even as she rolls her shoulders back and tilts her chin to the sky like a queen. I see her pain, the destruction tearing at her walls.
The last time I checked, the video had over two million views.
Jesus Christ, Junie.
I drop onto the top step of my porch and scrub my hands over my face. I should leave it alone. She’s not my problem to solve anymore.
But my brain’s already running the diagnostic—cataloguing the damage, calculating what needs to be fixed, building a plan I have absolutely no right to execute.
Fixing her hasn’t been my honor for six years, but my hands didn’t get that memo.
“I’m not sorry,” she sings into a bottle of liquor she’s holding like a microphone. “I’m not sorry you took out my trash.” She points to someone off-screen, and the camera pans to a woman sitting on a barstool.
Fucking Grace. Her college roommate and supposed BFF. She moved into Junie’s house their sophomore year when Fen finally got his own place.
“I’m not sorry you broke my damn heart. I’m not sorry you failed your last exam.
I’m not sorry you slept with my boyfriend.
I’m not sorry you now have eighteen years to think about what you’ve done.
I’m not sorry that you can’t go home now.
I’m not sorry you made a bad call, you can’t make amends, you chose it all wrong. ”
My chest burns.
The camera moves, and her dickhead ex-boyfriend’s pale face is enough to make me want to punch something. He’s reaching for Junie, shaking his head. His lips move, even though I can’t hear him. He’s sorry.
I slam my fist against the porch floor.
Her best friend, the only one she ever allowed close enough to even be called a friend, slept with her douchebag of a boyfriend. And Junie, being Junie, chose spite.
It’s why Fen has always called her Spite-Berry, but this side of Junie will always be Viper to me. When pushed to her limits, Junie will retaliate—it’s just not typically so public.
Now her spite-filled rampage is going viral across social media, and the entire world has a front-row seat to her pain.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I already know it’s Hudson, so I don’t bother answering.
I’m surprised Junie hasn’t thrown Katie out yet. That woman means well, but she’s pushy as hell, and I can only imagine what she has in store for Junie.
The buzzing of my phone is incessant, but I’ll ignore Hudson for as long as possible. Whatever he has to say will change the course of my life. Temporarily, anyway, because Junie can only ever be temporary.
Nolan made sure of that when I left Boston behind.
Even if my noble reasons for leaving feel thinner now, worn through by six years of silence and the look on her face when she told me she was fine, the fact remains that she was eighteen when I realized I was falling in love with her.
Eighteen when I’d already changed the trajectory of my life so she could live hers.
And the truth is, I couldn’t risk Junie by staying—I was stuck between a bad choice and a terrible one. The only decision I could afford was the one that gave Junie a chance.
My phone vibrates again, so I check it to get a feel for what I’m walking in on and groan.
Juniper & Her Berries:
Fen: Proof of arrival.
Fen: Picture sent.
That fucking asshole. When I don’t respond, he texts his second favorite group chat that I also actively avoid.
Fen & Tonic:
Fen: At least Spite-Berry didn’t punch you. How bad was it though?
What the hell do these guys think happened between us?
Hudson: On a scale of one to “she set the car on fire”?
Nolan: Just check in, Cole.
I pocket my phone without responding. With Hudson and Fen here, they’ll badger me in person anyway. It doesn’t mean that any of them will stop pushing the group chats, but they’ve had years to realize Juniper & Her Berries is not a place I belong anymore.
Forcing myself inside, I catch the door just before it slams shut behind me. The last thing I need is anyone psychoanalyzing the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside my mind.
I pour myself a drink that I don’t taste, then start another just as the guys enter the kitchen.
“You up for this?” Hudson asks.
I nod and sip my second drink while pouring them each one as well.
“You know,” Fen says with a lilt to his tone that always leads to one of two things—jail or trouble that could lead to jail. I brace myself for what comes next. “We’re not twenty-three anymore. And she’s not the teenager we’re trying to help through a tragedy.”
I lift my hand, palm out, to stop him. Even if that’s true, Juniper’s still my best friend’s baby sister who has more damaged baggage than the Boston airport—and I’m still the man who could unwillingly ruin her future.
“You guys hungry?” I ask.
“Grabbed burgers an hour ago because Juniper was hangry,” Hudson says. “I just need a shower and a nap.”
“How long are you staying?” A month would be good. They’re much better at handling Junie now.
“Our flight leaves at seven tomorrow morning.” Hudson’s a dick. His smirk says it all. He’s dropping off a bomb and retreating to his life.
Hudson’s phone chimes, and he answers it before it can ring again.
“Hey,” he says in greeting.
“How’s it going?” Nolan asks. “Should I come home?”
“We haven’t been here long,” Hudson says. “You’re on speaker.”
Nolan’s silent for so long that I check Hudson’s screen to ensure we weren’t disconnected.
“Are you sure about this, Cole? She’s…emotional and…already hurting.”
Typical Nolan. He’s warning me away from his baby sister even as he throws her in my path.
“You know I’ll always take care of her, Nolan.” It comes out too harshly—overcompensating, the way I always do when the alternative is admitting how much I’ve already failed her.
Hudson makes a garbled noise in his throat but says nothing,
“I—It’s just…she’s really in it this time.” Nolan carries a weight for his sister that none of us were ever able to help shoulder. And I tried. “Fenway said the Scout Report called asking for an interview with her.”
That’s not what I wanted to hear. The Scout Report is the least-reputable trashy gossip site out there. You know it’s bad when even I’m aware of its existence.
I’m also not surprised. Junie’s father squandered the fortune that her mother’s family spent generations building years ago, and now the Mercer name sings like a cautionary tale. Especially in Boston, and Grace is using it to her advantage.
“Obviously, I turned them down,” Fen says when he finds me glaring at him. “I’m damn good at my job, Cole. We’re all protective of her.”
My spine stiffens. “I know you are.”
“Just…keep me posted, okay?” Nolan says. “She threatened to put hair removal cream in my shampoo if I came home, but if she needs me—”
“I’ve got her.” The sharp words have Fen and Hudson smirking in my direction, while Nolan goes quiet again.
“I’ve got some work to do. Anything else you want to say?” Hudson asks.
“No,” Nolan replies. “I’ll check in on Junie in the morning. Just…thank you. All of you.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Fen says before Hudson pockets his phone.
“Nana Mae got your rooms ready.” I wave toward the stairs, and Hudson takes off with only his laptop bag in hand. The guy is a workaholic.
“You know,” Fen says, backing away from me with his drink in hand. “Whatever happened at Nolan’s graduation party to make you run…” He glances in the direction of the garage. “Well, maybe you’ll find that running was never the solution to your problems. Maybe this time, you’ll learn how to stay.”
He’s gone before I can formulate a response that isn’t telling him to go to hell. Nolan made it perfectly clear that his sister was off-limits, and then my ex weaponized her. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take—even if my heart is the price I pay.
What I need right now is a distraction. And the only thing that even comes close to matching Junie is my work, so I also head upstairs with my drink in hand.
As I stand in my home office, which unfortunately lines up with her bedroom window, our uncomfortable reunion runs through my head.
Work has gotten me through the last six years of missing Junie and my friends, and there’s only one project I want to work on tonight.
My version of Junie’s dream house.
Tomorrow I’ll get my shit together. Set the boundaries. Stop acting like a man who’s allowed to want what he can’t have.
But tonight, I’ll create her happiness the only way I can.
Perhaps someday, I’ll have the opportunity to give her the blueprints.
Or maybe not because the idea of her living in her dream home with some twinkie dick who doesn’t deserve her makes my blood burn hotter than the sun.
There’s no in-between with Junie and me. There never has been. That’s the real problem.