Chapter 4 Kingston
Kingston
Kennedy’s finger trails under my t-shirt, her long painted fingernail dragging over every ridge of hard-earned muscle. “You missed a hell of a party last night. It was epic.”
I try not to roll my eyes at Kennedy’s description of what was probably a field party in the middle of nowhere, with a bonfire in the middle and lots and lots of alcohol.
Don’t get me wrong. That’s a good time, and I’m all about the good times, but it would have been shit without Camden there too.
“Eh, I had a pretty good time. Scream was on television last night, and Camden’s mom got the extra butter popcorn. So, it was pretty damn epic too.”
“You think Camden will go to college?” I sit up straight at my girlfriend’s question, which came out of nowhere. I stare daggers at her. Why the hell would she ask that?
“Why would he?”
She sits up on her bed, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s way too smart not to. He’s probably going to change the whole damn world, Kingston.”
I’m glaring at her, suddenly regretting coming over to her house after I left Cam’s this evening.
But he had to go to work, and his mom was awake and could watch Lucy.
She sleeps in after working the night shift, and I wasn’t kidding about enjoying hanging out with the kid.
I should have just gone home, but I didn’t feel like it yet.
Now it’s pushing midnight, and I’m pretty irritated with my girlfriend.
“He’s not leaving Kensley. He loves it here. ”
She narrows her eyes at me—eyes I usually think are pretty but are annoying me at the moment.
“If you say so.” She moves toward me, prowling like a cat in heat, her hand dragging over the front of my shirt.
“I don’t really want to talk about Camden, anyway.
” She bites on her bottom lip. “You know my mom is going to get home soon and kick you out, so we should probably find something to do until then. Something fun.”
We spent most of tonight hanging out with her little brothers. Kennedy’s life is really similar to Camden’s. Her mom is a single mom who works at the local distribution plant. She has two little brothers, but they mostly just bug her.
She resents the hell out of her mom and maybe her younger brothers too, which is the total opposite of Camden.
I smile to myself, thinking about my best friend, who takes everything in stride.
He didn’t ask his mom to get knocked up, but he just rolls with it.
He loves Lucy like crazy, and he watches her without complaint.
All Kennedy ever does is complain.
Maybe that’s not fair. I don’t have any younger siblings, and my parents are still married—happily in love after nineteen years of marriage. They tell me this all the time. It’s kind of gross but also kind of awesome.
I take her hand gently but move it off my zipper where it landed. “I should go before she gets home. Don’t want her to worry about what we’ve been doing in here.”
Her eyelashes flutter in annoyance. “Yeah, she literally has nothing to worry about. You never want to do it anymore.”
I cringe at her calling me out, but I can’t argue with her.
I mean, sex is awesome. I like it fine, but I don’t 100 percent get what all the fuss is about.
We did it for the first time at the end of our sophomore year.
Although, it kind of felt like that was just what was expected—high-school football star and head cheerleader.
But I don’t know. It was good, and it’s been good every time since then.
It’s just not something I have to do every time we see each other.
“I’m just not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against her headboard. Great, I think we’re fighting. Again.
I swear it’s all we ever do.
Maybe that’s why I’m never in the fucking mood. It’s always fighting with her. It’s never easy. And now we’re fighting about fucking. This is just great.
“I gotta go.” I climb off her bed and find my black Kensley Panthers jersey, pulling it over my head.
“Fine. Whatever.”
I don’t even bother trying to offer her a kiss goodbye or giving her any words. There’s no point. Once Kennedy is pissed off, she’s pissed off for a while. What the fuck ever.
I fist-bump one of her little brothers on the way out and then head to my car, climbing behind the wheel and starting the engine I love so damn much. It’s loud, probably a little too loud, but everyone in the town knows my car.
They wave when I drive by. There goes Kingston Wells, tight end for the Kensley Panthers. Total badass. I know that’s what they think.
And it’s a great part of my life. I love it. I love everything about high school. I park in front of Camden’s house, which is only a couple of blocks from my own, and kill the engine.
I especially love my best friend.
Kennedy is wrong. There’s no way he’d leave this town behind.
I know he’s Mr. Responsible, always taking care of everything, but he loves it here as much as I do.
I saw the look in his eyes right before he passed that ball downfield.
I felt the energy and the love of the game—not just the game, but also the town—crackling through the air just before I caught it.
Yeah, Kennedy is crazy.
I climb out of my car and head toward Camden’s window. It’s really late, and I see his mom’s car in the driveway. If she’s asleep, I don’t want to wake her up. I knock softly on his window and wait.
Moments later, my cranky best friend appears, lifting the window and scowling at me—his light brown hair mussed, like he was probably sleeping, and a crease in his brow. “What the hell, Wells?”
I chuckle because even though he’s a cantankerous bastard, he still uses my last name with affection. “Let me in.”
“You’re going to wake Lucy or my mom.”
“Not if you don’t put up a fight. Let me in.
It’s cold as balls out here.” His eyes roll, like they often do at me, but then he backs away from the window with a sigh to let me climb in.
When I stand up before him, I see he’s shirtless and only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, which he always wears to bed. “Sleeping?”
“I didn’t get off work until ten-thirty. What do you think?” He picks up odd jobs around town to help his mom out with money, and lately he’s been working at the local grocery store.
“I think the store closes at ten. Every night.”
He rolls his eyes again, flicking on the side lamp on his nightstand and lying down on his bed, clearly beat. “Helped stock shelves for a bit. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were with Kenn.”
“Yeah, we kinda got into it.” I take a seat on the edge of his bed, and he snorts.
“Shocking.”
I raise my middle finger as I pull my hoodie off over my head and toss it onto his desk chair. “You going to college?” I blurt out the question that’s plaguing me.
His green eyes narrow in my direction, full of confusion. “I applied to some places, sure. I don’t know if I’ll get in, but my grades are decent.”
Decent, hell. He’s a straight-A student and always has been. “Really?” I ask, the hurt soaking through me, and I don’t even know why or if I have the right to feel that way at all.
“You haven’t?” He looks shocked.
“What about my C-average record would tell you I’d be cut out for college?”
He shrugs, pulling his covers up as he sits up to look at me better. “I thought maybe a football scholarship or something. You could do it.”
“I don’t want to,” I answer quickly because I don’t. College has never even crossed my mind. My parents don’t talk about it. My teachers don’t. And Camden and I never have either.
“Okay . . .” He still looks confused, and my heart squeezes tight in my chest at the thought of him leaving.
“Why would you want to go to college, Cam?”
He shrugs like he’s embarrassed, and then there’s a heavy sigh. “To see what’s out there? To get the hell out of Kensley.”
“Why would you want to leave Kensley?” No, no, no. Kennedy can’t be right about this. He can’t want to leave our town.
“Kingston . . .” His voice is quiet, but he’s using that tone he uses when I don’t understand something. “I want to see more of the world. I want more than just . . .” he looks toward the window, a wistful look in his eyes, “oil, cornfields, bonfires, and fucking Dairy Queen.”
“Hey,” I snap, but it’s semi-playful. “Don’t you dare diss the DQ. It’s the shit.”
He smiles at that, his dimples popping on both cheeks when he does. He brushes his hair out of his eyes as he looks back at me. “I’m so sorry I insulted the DQ. That was blasphemous.”
I fold my arms over my solid chest, nodding. “Damn. Straight.”
He laughs and tosses a pillow at me, which I catch easily. “I just want to see if I can get in. That’s all.”
I let myself believe his declaration—one we both know is a lie. Because I see now. I see something I’ve been blind to for so damn long. He wants out.
I stand up, slipping off my shirt and then my jeans, and climb into his bed like I’ve done since we were kids.
“I have to work early in the morning,” he says, but he’s not kicking me out. He never does.
“On a Sunday?”
He nods, yawning. “I’m going over to Mrs. Culver’s to cut firewood. She said I can take what I want, and she’s paying me.”
“Fine. I’ll be quiet then.”
“No, you won’t.” he says, another yawn taking over as he turns out the light.
But I am quiet, even though I have a million questions for him. He has to work early in the morning, and he’s already wrecked.
And also . . . I don’t think I want to really know the answer to any of my questions right now.