Chapter Five
PRESLEY
Me
Yes. Who the hell is this?
My stomach is in my throat, and I feel instant regret for my impulsive decision. Because as soon as I send off my text, three tiny dots appear at the bottom of the screen.
Holy shit, the mystery texter is typing.
Unknown number
I’ll give you three clues. If you guess correctly, then we’ll both know we’re talking to the right person.
Me
This better not be some convoluted scam to steal my identity…because honestly, you should just give up now. I’m not that cool.
Unknown number
Definitely not a scam.
Me
Oh, that’s reassuring. Like a scammer would say otherwise!
Unknown number
Glad to see your stubborn streak hasn’t gone away.
What? My stubborn streak? Who the hell is this?
Unknown number
First clue: We used to be neighbors.
I scoff and roll my eyes.
Me
You could literally be anyone. I’ve had tons of neighbors. Try harder.
Unknown number
Okay, how about this one? Second clue: You taught me to surf.
My brows scrunch together. I don’t think I’ve ever been that close with a neighbor. Unless…
Unknown number
Third clue: We once spent seven minutes in heaven…
My heart starts to race.
Because, holy shit. I know who this is.
Me
Hollis?
His reply takes fucking forever. My hands start to shake. I even drop my damn phone.
Unknown number
Hey, Pres.
Two words.
That’s all it takes for twelve years to turn to dust.
I don’t know how long I stare at my screen.
Hollis Beck is my mystery texter.
And he still calls me Pres.
I walk into the kitchen and come to an abrupt halt.
My brother is standing there.
But he is not alone.
With him is the boy from the hallway.
I only saw him for a moment by my locker that day, but the way he made my heart stop.
Dark reddish hair, dimples, and mesmerizing green eyes.
They’re both laughing, but the second Hendrix sees me, they both stop and turn.
“Oh, hey! This is my friend, Hollis. He’s new to town.” He points a finger in my direction. “This is my little sister, Presley. She’s a freshman.”
“Hey, Hollis,” I say awkwardly.
He smirks. “Hey, Pres.”
I remember feeling both elated and despondent in that moment.
I’d been thinking about him ever since that day, and there he was, in my kitchen, like I’d conjured him with my thoughts alone.
But he was also my brother’s friend.
And soon, he’d become so much more.
A few months after I met him in our kitchen, he ended up staying with us over a holiday weekend and just never left. His mom’s boyfriend didn’t like having a kid around, and she was more than happy to let him stay with us.
He ended up living with us for almost a year.
Hollis fit into our family seamlessly. My younger siblings loved him like a brother. My parents loved him like a son, and I—
Well, my feelings were slightly more complicated.
When his mom’s boyfriend dumped her and subsequently kicked her out just weeks before his graduation, she showed up demanding we give him back.
He was just shy of eighteen and therefore still a minor, and according to my parents, there was nothing they could do. So he left.
That was the last I saw or heard from Hollis Beck.
Until now.
And he thinks he can just text me out of the blue like nothing happened?
Well, I’ve got news for him…
HOLLIS
It’s been ten minutes since Pres figured out who I was.
Ten minutes of complete radio silence.
I can’t decide if that’s a bad thing or not.
She could just be busy. It is a weekday, after all. Normal people work on Thursdays, right? Since I have no fucking clue what she does for a living, she could be one of those people. She could be in a sales meeting or seeing a patient…
Yeah, that doesn’t sound like her at all.
I get up and walk out of my office. I can’t sit still any longer. I need to do something, so I head into the kitchen and—
My phone starts to ring.
I look down and, oh holy fuck. It’s her.
Who answers a text with a phone call? There are rules, Pres…
My palms start to sweat as my phone buzzes, waiting for me to make up my mind.
“Answer the damn phone, asshole.”
I swipe my thumb across the screen and lift it to my ear, but before I can open my mouth to greet her, she’s already speaking.
And it’s loud…and animated.
“I haven’t heard from you in twelve years, Hollis. Twelve years! And that’s how you decide to reach out? By acting like some creepy scammer? And then, after all of that, all you have to say is, ‘Hey, Pres.’”
The way she mimics my voice by dropping her own is priceless. I can’t help the tiny grin that tugs at the corner of my lips.
“I was going to follow up with a how are you, or maybe a whatcha been up to, but it’s kind of hard to get a word in with all the yelling and such.”
“I am not yelling.”
“Not now, no. But a minute ago, it was getting a little shrill. I think I heard one of the neighbor’s dogs howl in response.”
“You—” She huffs in frustration. “You do not get to be funny right now. I’m mad at you. Really mad, Hollis.”
“I know, Pres.” I swallow, instantly sobering. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve seriously had my number this whole time?”
I don’t bother lying. “Yes.”
“And you never thought to contact me until now?”
Fuck. The hurt in her voice is so palpable, it makes my chest ache. Sabine said to be prepared for anything, but I hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to hear the pain I’d caused by walking away. I’d been solely focused on myself and couldn’t see past my own bleeding heart.
“Look,” I run a hand through my hair as I pace in my living room. “I was a fucked-up kid back then. I pushed everyone away, and it’s taken me years to get to the point where I can admit that. I’m sorry I hurt you, Pres, and if you don’t want to ever talk to me, I’ll understand.”
“Why now?”
“What?”
“Why did you decide to text me now?”
“Oh, um—I’m not sure,” I lie. “Guess I was just thinking of you.”
“You were just thinking of me…” She says it slowly, like she’s testing out each word herself to check for authenticity. “So after all this time, you happen to think of me on a random Thursday, and what? Decided to pull up my contact info that you’ve been ignoring for over a decade and say hi?”
“I—”
“Come on, Hollis,” she says, her voice laced with annoyance. “I have four siblings. You know I’m trained in sussing out bullshit. Tell me the truth. Why did you text me this morning?”
“I saw Hendrix last night,” I finally confess.
“You…what?” I can get the genuine confusion in her voice as she tries to make sense of what I just said.
“I run a club in Nashville, and he and the band stopped by,” I explain.
“You manage a nightclub?”
I don’t know why I don’t bother correcting her about the fact that I own the nightclub. Maybe it feels like I’m bragging. Maybe I’m not ready to share that part of my life. Either way, I answer, “I’ve always been a good multitasker.”
“I just can’t imagine you choosing a profession where you willingly spend all your time with a bunch of spoiled rich people.”
“It pays the bills,” I reply. But in all honesty, it more than pays the bills. Velvet is the hottest club in Nashville. It’s doing so well, we’re considering opening clubs in other cities.
“So did Hendrix tell you to call to give me business advice or because he thinks I need an intervention?”
“What?” My brow furrows as I take a seat on the sofa and stretch out my long legs. “What kind of intervention? And I never actually talked to Hendrix. I thought about it, but he was in the VIP lounge with his bandmates, and I just—”
“He would have loved to see you,” she says softly.
“Yeah, well…I wasn’t so sure.”
“So is that why you called me? Because you felt guilty or wanted a way to get in touch with him?”
“What? No,” I press. “I still have his number, Pres, assuming he hasn’t changed it. But I called you. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh.”
A silence settles between us, and it’s not the comfortable kind we used to enjoy when we would walk on the beach together or sit side by side on her bed and listen to music.
No, this silence is awkward. It’s the kind of silence that makes you feel naked and vulnerable.
“So why does Hendrix think you need an intervention?” I ask, literally reaching for any conversation topic I can grab.
“Oh.” She laughs nervously. “I don’t think it’s just him. I’m pretty sure my whole family thinks I need an intervention when it comes to my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
I don’t know why the word makes me stop dead in my tracks. It’s been twelve years. Of course, she has a boyfriend.
Why wouldn’t she?
She’s had a whole life since I left.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “They don’t like him?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I’ve got time.”
I settle onto the couch, listen, and get to know Presley Creed all over again.