All’s Fair (Gamble on Love #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

avery

NOW

loml – Taylor Swift

The thing with first loves is they never truly leave you. They stitch themselves so deep in your very soul, that even when you’ve both moved on and the world barely remembers, you always will.

The first kiss, the first touch, the first heartbreak…

They linger, marking you for life. The tears that were shed stain your soul.

The music you consumed together late at night when the rest of the world was quiet becomes a ghost in your ears when those songs play in the grocery store, immediately taking you back in time to when you were young and in love.

Those first loves created who you are and change you in ways you may never fully realize.

I met my first love back when I was na?ve enough to think love was everything.

Back when you could’ve told me anything would happen, except that I would lose Kane, and I could survive it.

When our worlds were so consumed within each other, we barely saw much else.

We found each other back when fairytales still felt possible and forever didn’t feel like it was an unattainable construct staring back at us.

From eighteen to twenty-three, my whole world revolved around one other being.

This isn’t the first time the crushing weight of the phantom pain has threatened to drag me back under. The past month has been a blur of it, of getting myself up and moving because there’s nothing else to do. The never-ending haze my mind has been stuck in rears with a vengeance.

The edges of my vision get blurry as my brain begs to drift back to the past and the comfort it offers me, wanting to cocoon me in its arms. Half of my heart is walking around, existing outside of my body, and I find myself wondering day after day if I will ever get that part of me back.

A soft hand on my arm pulls me back into focus. I wipe the lone tear that escaped while I was lost in my thoughts. I smile at Morgan, a silent apology for zoning out on her.

The lights of our local bar, The Grunge—named for the ‘90s grunge ambiance—are vibrant tonight, illuminating the bar top in a soft amber glow. Their locally famous Taco Tuesday has drawn in a bigger crowd lately, after word of their five-dollar margaritas and town-famous nachos got around, the place getting more crowded and boisterous as the night goes on. I’ve always found comfort in this place.

I stare at the half-empty strawberry margarita in front of me, its sugar rim thoroughly licked off and condensation dripping down the sides of the glass.

The superior part of any good margarita is a sugar rim, salt nowhere to be seen with my sweet tooth.

My only margarita of the night, since I need to be at the shelter first thing tomorrow.

“C’mon Ave, you can’t really think pranking him is the best idea right now,” Morgan says, giving me an accusatory look over the rim of her third margarita.

Morgan Belle is my best friend, though she’s so completely my opposite in every way.

I look at her across from me at our four-person round table.

Being complete opposites in looks and personality, you would never have thought we would be here today eight years later.

Morgan has long blonde curls and dons a high-end designer wardrobe and perfectly applied makeup.

She has an air of don’t fuck with me, but even with that, you can’t help but gravitate toward her.

Her bubbly personality makes her shine in any room she’s in, striking you dumb when she turns those rays onto you.

She’s a stark contrast to me in my signature all-black ensemble—shiny Doc Martens and a miniskirt that’s practically my second skin—along with the minimal makeup I decided to grace the world with still clinging to my skin after a full ten hours at the shelter.

“I know that wasn’t the best scene, but there has to be an explanation.

I mean, Kane and I have never actually had a conversation without you around about more than the shifting weather patterns, but I know Marcus would’ve told me.

That fucker can’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes,” she finishes with a flourish, dipping her chip back in the queso.

The low beat of a song I plays in the background, and no matter how many sips of my drink I take, I can’t seem to block out the words I know by heart—but from the low voice of the man who haunts me.

“Regardless of what Marcus tells you, Kane shouldn’t be parading his newest conquest in front of me like the last four years meant nothing.

It’s been weeks! And he looks like that, with that and I just…

” I stab my fiftieth chip into the almost completely cooled queso, unable to control the restricting feeling in my chest, my breathing shallow.

I force myself to keep everything inside, so I don’t lose it over a happy hour bowl of queso—and my ex’s new blonde bombshell, apparently.

She rolls her eyes at the mention of Marcus, my other best friend who’s practically been a brother to me since he moved in next door when I was five.

It’s been forty-five minutes since I saw Kane enter the patio, and the feeling of the ever-present emptiness that’s been invading my chest lately was replaced with a raging fire.

He strode by looking like the devil himself, all black clothes and dangerous tattoos.

From the endless silver rings that adorn his fingers to the untamed locks falling over his forehead, he’s every woman’s bad-boy dream.

My bad boy once upon a time.

I scoff and look over in the direction they went, but they’re hidden from view by a pillar.

Thank you, universe, for that.

I turn and take in the bar around me. From the dingy and grunge dive bar appearance on the outside and the late ‘90s vibes of vintage music posters and colored vinyls lining the walls, down to the speckled floor I’ve walked across more than I have in my childhood home in the past five years, I’ve always found comfort in this place.

It’s where I’ve found my stride the past four years, where I sat so many nights at the bar finishing my homework to steal just a few more minutes with Kane while he worked behind the bar.

He kept me there with an endless supply of Coke and lemon as I waited for him to close up before we went to one of our places and ended the night together.

We were that couple. The couple that couldn’t bear to be apart, once upon a time. We lost each other long before the breakup happened. We would wait for each other after classes, find time to steal dates when others were struggling to even fit in their homework assignments.

I have helped Kane close this bar so many times.

Wiping down the black resin counters and swaying to the low pop punk and indie folk playing in the background, only to feel Kane come up behind me and hold me to whatever song was playing, distracting us both from our tasks.

We would always take longer to get things done, instead quizzing each other on music and trying to work on our perfectly curated playlist of our top-tier song selections.

Each of us would add a new one to the surround system to see how quickly the other could guess it.

I hold the record of one chord progression, thank you very much.

My stomach twinges at the memory.

I snap myself back to the present for the second time tonight. The past seems to be haunting me more knowing that this is the closest we have been in weeks, and I blink back the tears that have built in the corners of my eyes.

Morgan stares at me, seeming to wait for an answer to a question I missed.

She knows what the breakup has been like.

I was held up in my room for the first week crying to my “sad girls cry” playlist, which I made after one particularly lonely night when I found Kane’s notebook of lyrics tucked between the bed and the wall, after removing him from the music streaming account we shared.

He deserves to suffer with bad music after breaking my heart.

This breakup shredded my soul, but I have been walking around as if I’m just fine. I mean, it was my idea to end it, right? He checked out and left me to make that decision all on my own.

I’ve kept myself from opening up completely to her about the breakup.

Not for a lack of trying on her part. I think there was a moment when Morgan had me in a headlock threatening to delete our best friend’s playlist after a particularly nasty crying session.

I started to see why Marcus has called her Viper since the ninth grade.

He still hasn’t shared the actual reason but based on the smirk he wears and the blush that creeps across Morgan’s face every time I ask, I figure it’s probably best to mind my own business where they’re concerned.

We’ve all known each other since high school—the respective years, making us more family than friends.

It’s not that I won’t talk about it—it’s that I can’t.

Because then it’s real, and I have to decide what to do without him.

As of right now, I’ve been surviving by dissociating from the present and pretending this isn’t happening.

My therapist, Susan, would tell me it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism and that running from my problems will not, in fact, make them go away, so it’s a good thing I’ve also made the mature decision to ghost her.

The way Morgan looks at me makes me think I’ve been spaced out for longer than I realize, but I’m too tipsy to care. Instead, I decide to make it my mission to finish our fourth refill of chips singlehandedly. Nothing heals more than a margarita and extra salty chips.

“I mean, I wouldn’t hurt Kane, you know that.

But I want him to hurt a little bit mentally.

More psychological warfare than a physical one,” I say, slurping the rest of my watery strawberry margarita.

I’m ready to get out of here and back to my romance books where they always find a way back to each other.

Maybe this is what we need to find each other again, or maybe this will help me move on like Kane has.

Pranks used to be something silly we’d do between houses, Morgan’s and mine versus Kane and Marcus’s, to keep the laughs going throughout our college years.

Doing little things to annoy the others until we finally got each other back.

Morgan looks at me with a raised eyebrow, her glossy eyes reflecting her tipsiness. She slurps the last remnants of her usual prickly pear margarita. At this point, she just asks for “The Morgan,” and the bartenders automatically know what she wants.

Unsure if she heard me the first time, I add, “Look, I’m doing this with or without you, but it would be more fun with help…” I leave my statement open with my eyebrows raised, waiting for her to respond. I’m guessing she’s hoping that if she ignores me long enough, I’ll change my mind.

“Fine! I thought maybe we matured since our college days,” Morgan relents. “But if anyone finds out, I fought you a lot harder on this.” She slams her empty glass down, bracelets clinking against the table.

“What first?” she asks with an almost manic glint in her eye. My regret about asking her to help just barely hits the surface before I knock it down and laugh at the ridiculousness of this day.

“I have the perfect idea,” I say just as Marcus and Grayson sidle into the bar, laughing at some joke I’m sure only they will get. They make their way over to us, turning heads across the bar, and I roll my eyes with a giggle as I watch looks from women across the bar linger on them.

“Avery,” Marcus says as he approaches our table, his effortless brown curls more wild than usual, a slight dent in them from his headphones.

His pretty-boy looks are on full display tonight—his flannel open wider than most men would allow, and the deep tan of his skin visible.

“And Viper,” he adds, his gaze trained on Morgan.

“Bite me,” she replies, giving him a look of disgust. She picks up her phone, pretending to be interested in anything but the smirk he gives her, even though I spot the redness creeping up her neck. A snort leaves my lips, earning me a death glare from her.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” Marcus retorts, winking at her.

Grayson sends a dazzling smile my way and gives Morgan a quick hug before taking his seat.

He sits there silently, ignoring the antics, his dirty blonde hair pushed back behind a ball cap and his team jersey still on, suggesting he came from batting practice.

His first year on the B team is finally underway now that spring is here, and it’s nice to see Grayson again since practice has taken up most of his time.

We abandon our previous conversation in favor of Marcus explaining his most recent run-in with his and Kane’s upstairs landlord’s newest fling of the week—someone who, at eighty-one, surprisingly gets more action than all of us put together—and I glance around, wondering if Kane is still here.

I look over at Marcus and Grayson and almost ask about Kane, but I’m not sure I’m ready to know the answer.

Every song and sound of utensils clinking sends my already overwhelmed brain into a frenzy, and I realize I’m no longer in the headspace for being out.

My mood has shifted, and I need the quiet darkness of my room to wrap around me like a warm blanket.

There are protests as I make my excuses, but I say my goodbyes, call an Uber and head outside to wait.

When I push through the front doors, a burst of cool air instantly sobers me up.

The weather has broken just enough this week to get us some relief from the relentless cold we’ve been having, announcing a change of the seasons is on its way in the south.

I’ve lived in this small Tennessee town of Cherry Hill all my life—spring is always unpredictable, and with the sun setting below the horizon, a slight chill fills the air.

My new skirt and Doc Martens aren’t helping matters, and it has me wishing I had added those new stockings that I picked up on Morgan’s and my most recent shopping trip.

I check my phone to see where my Uber is, my finger hovering over the generic background I changed it to after the breakup, when a black SUV pulls up in front of me. The driver rolls down the window to confirm my name, and I quickly lock my phone and get inside.

I stare out the window as the lights blur past, lost in my head like I have been all night. Before I realize it, we’re pulling up to my rented cottage and I get out with a quick, “Thanks,” to the driver.

I don’t bother to turn any lights on as I get ready for bed. Once I’m under the covers, I pull them up over my head and finally let out the tears I refused to let fall earlier.