CHAPTER 1 johnnie THEN | 2000
johnnie
That’s it, the final touch.
I nudge the last dolphin into place, lining it up with precision beside all its porcelain friends. They catch the afternoon light just right, little flashes of blue and glassy white. It looks as though they might slip off the shelf and swim away.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Behind me, Dierks Bentley croons through my hot pink boom box—surprisingly, the sound not warped from years of use.
Sweet sixteen. I remember ripping the wrapping paper like it held something better inside.
Turns out, this cheap plastic thing is one of the only pieces of my childhood that still brings comfort.
I fold my arms, taking in the room.
Small. Too small, if I’m being honest. The walls are paneled in wood, and if it wasn’t for the ample windows I would feel slightly claustrophobic. Back home—no, not home anymore—there were five bedrooms, tall ceilings, and space to breathe without bumping into yourself.
Now there’s this.
A trailer. My grandmother’s trailer.
My room.
I blink past the thought before it can settle.
It’s not all bad. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.
Because this place, this town. It isn’t foreign.
Laken, Ohio. A blink-and-you-miss-it lake town tucked so far west you can practically hear Indiana breathing.
I grew up here.
I run my fingers along the shelf, straightening a dolphin that doesn’t need straightening. It’s easier to focus on that than the rest of it—the why I’m here and what comes next.
My parents are two thousand miles away in San Antonio, chasing an opportunity my dad called “too good to pass up,” like that was supposed to make it easier. Like distance doesn’t stretch differently when it’s your life getting pulled thin.
They asked me to go. And I almost did. But senior year isn’t something I wanted to abandon. And neither were the people here.
Especially not Bea, my best friend who’s been glued to my side since fourth grade. Bea, who knows every version of me. The past, the present, and ones I don’t admit out loud.
Leaving her would’ve felt like cutting off something vital.
So I stayed.
Chose this instead.
Chose Nan.
Allie to everyone else, but Nan to me—like I’ve always belonged to her in a way that no one else does.
When I asked if I could stay, she didn’t hesitate. Just smiled like she’d been waiting for me to ask. Which, honestly, maybe she had. The idea of having something that goes beyond Willie Nelson, Marlboro reds, and Budweiser to keep her company was probably enticing.
Living with her is going to be…different.
Quieter in some ways. Louder in others. The trailer always smells faintly like cigarette smoke and something fried. The record player drifts through the place like background noise, tangled up with the hum of an old fan and the occasional rasp of her lighter sparking to life.
It’s not the life I’m used to.
But it’s real.
And for the first time in a long time, I think that might be exactly what I need.
I take one last look at the dolphins, lined up and gleaming.
“Yeah,” I murmur to no one. “This’ll work.”
Even if I’m not entirely sure I believe it yet.
Nan is a five-foot-tall force of nature with a Southern drawl that thickens with every drink she has. Which, at eighty years old, is more often than you’d expect. She’s stubborn, sharp-tongued, and entirely set in her ways…but beneath all of that is a heart of gold.
This will be an entertaining experience, to say the least. I just hope I don’t end up regretting my decision to stay.
My *NSYNC poster curls slightly above the headboard, corners taped down. I toss my clothes into the closet, placing my brown leather journal under a folded sweatshirt for safe keeping. Then I reach for more essentials, my stuffed animals.
The yellow dude, a potato-shaped plush, lands first. His neck tilts at a permanent angle, threads strained and thinning from years of being clutched too tight, too often.
I press my thumb into the worn spot out of habit, like checking for a pulse.
He still fits perfectly in the crook of my arm.
The rest follow, my army of Beanie Babies lining up shoulder to shoulder across the comforter.
I snap the top sheet open, and it billows once before floating down.
The smell hits me midair, it’s warm, clean and unmistakable.
Something soft and floral, laced with that faint sweetness that always reminds me of white chocolate.
It clings to the fabric as I smooth it flat, tugging each corner tight, sealing the mattress in something that feels grounding.
For a second, my hands still, the scent lingers.
It presses in, quiet but insistent, brushing against something in my chest that almost aches enough to name.
Almost.
I’m quickly pulled from my thoughts when the rumble of a pickup truck through paper thin walls and the vibration of the floor catches my attention.
Creeping up to the window, I peer out the blinds to find three tall, tanned, light caramel-haired guys climbing out of a white pickup with the words “Combs Landscaping” on the side.
They seem too engrossed in shoulder punches and shit-talking each other to notice the trailer next door.
So I inch closer toward the windows, pulling the blinds back, practically smashing my face against the glass.
The three of them must be brothers, cousins at the very least. Same skin tone, hair color, and damn good looks.
I’m nearly jerked out of my own skin when a sudden knock at the bedroom door startles the shit out of me. I jump and the blinds rattle as they snap back into place.
“Come in,” I yell, with a hand on my heart.
Slowly, the door creaks open and there’s Nan leaning against the frame with a smirk on her face, white hair in disarray—it tends to get that way when she leans back in her recliner with one of her smutty novels she loves so much.
“You wouldn’t be spying on my neighbors, would you?” Nan has a mischievous glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what I was doing.
“Those guys live next door? I assumed they were visiting Debbie. Doesn’t she still live there?”
“She passed away just after Christmas,” Nan says with a hint of sadness. “Her grandsons, the Combs boys, moved in shortly after. Their parents were killed in a car accident not long before Debbie passed. Those poor boys, losing so much, so fast.”
Chills find their way up my arms, that’s so sad.
I knew they had to be brothers.
She gestures toward me and points down the hallway. “Come on, hon, I made us some BLTs with tomatoes straight from the garden.” She turns on a heel and saunters toward the kitchen, and I follow, brown-toned carpeted floor slightly creaking with each of our steps.
An hour later, I’m walking next door with a full stomach and all the fixing for several more sandwiches Nan made to take to “the boys.” She insisted I bring them over, claiming her hip was bothering her too much and she needed to sit down. Call me crazy, but I swear she’s trying to play matchmaker.
Just as I’m about to knock on their front door, fist in the air, a voice booms from behind me.
“Did Nan make us more food?”
Startled, I whirl around and find the most ethereal brown eyes looking back at me.
“I think she’s afraid we’ll only survive on Mountain Dew and Sour Patch Kids if she doesn’t intervene.” He huffs a laugh.
“First of all, where do you get off calling her Nan? Her name is Allie. She’s my Nan. Secondly, are you telling me you wouldn’t be living off junk food if it weren’t for my grandmother?”
“Dang, girl. Easy,” he says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
“I honestly didn’t even know her name, she’s always told my brothers and me to call her Nan.
And no, I’m not about to deny that the only healthy food we eat these days comes from next door.
” He takes a couple steps toward me, placing his hands on his hips and slightly lifting one corner of his mouth.
Those toffee eyes he’s donning connect with my own blues like magnets, and the jolt of energy that zaps through me is jarring.
“I’m Johnnie.” It’s the only thing that manages to come out next.
“Nice to meet you, Johnnie. I’m Collins. Collins Combs. And this”—he gestures toward the trailer like Vanna White—“is my humble abode. Want to come in and meet my brothers?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he steps in front of me, grabbing the front door and guiding me through.
Inside, I’m met with far more cleanliness than what I would expect from a three-man bachelor pad.
A green velvet couch sits below the large living room window with Brad Pitt and Leo DiCaprio look-alikes deep in a game of Madden on its cushions.
I take a couple steps and set the Tupperware containers onto the kitchen counter as Collins takes a seat in a barstool beside me.
“Yo, guys, this here is Na—” He gives me a side eye. “Nan’s granddaughter, Johnnie. Be polite and say hello.”
Both guys glance my way and give me a simultaneous “hey” and continue moving their thumbs and staring at the TV screen on the opposite wall.
Now that I’m seeing all three of these brothers up close, I notice how truly similar they appear in looks, but the two on the couch are nearly impossible to make a distinction between. Brad and Leo rolled into one, with the most gorgeous, wavy, dirty-blonde hair. A lethal combination.
“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours.”
I didn’t realize I was staring as I snap my attention back to Collins.
“Yes, they’re twins. I’m the odd man out,” he says, letting his teeth make an appearance for the first time…and oh my lord. There’s the slightest gap between his two front, perfectly straight, white teeth. That’s unexpectedly hot.
“Campbell, raise a hand.”
I look over and see a hand fly up, making me giggle.
“And the other nutsack is Crandall.”
“Collins, Campbell, and Crandall? That’s not confusing at all. And your last name is Combs? Were your parents Cathy and Chris?” I suck in a sharp breath as my stomach bottoms out, when I realize I’ve mentioned their dead parents.
But Collins chimes in right away, like he senses my embarrassment.
“Nah, they were Bryan and Madge. All our names are actually surnames from down the line. Our mom thought it was cool there were so many family names with so much in common. She was big into naming things. We once had two tabby cats that you couldn’t tell apart, so she named them Copy and Paste. ”
I can’t help the loud laugh that escapes my mouth, and Collins gives me another glance of those gapped front teeth.
Lordy, I think I could spend the rest of my life making this man smile just to see the sliver of dark between his pearly whites. God, what the hell am I thinking? I need to get out of here.
Standing up, I point to the food I brought. “Umm, I should get going. Enjoy your sandwiches. Nan put everything in there you need to make BLTs. The tomatoes are from her garden, they’re really good. It was nice meeting you all.”
I’m just about to turn the knob and let myself out when warmth hits my back and a hand covers the top of mine.
“Here, let me get the door for you,” Collins says. “It sticks, you gotta wiggle it just right.”
My knees feel like jelly, but I manage to make my way down the few steps and onto the cement slab of porch between our two trailers.
I’m already heading up the small front deck steps at Nan’s when I glance over my shoulder to see Collins run a hand through his already-messy mop of chocolate and caramel tresses, his eyes glued to me.
I start to head inside, but take one more look, just in time to see his smirk and a wink.
He just winked at me.
That’s when I realize…
I’m so screwed.