Fresh Start
a closed-door, second chance romance
KATE
My boyfriend is making out with one of my sorority sisters.
I pull up short at the sight, grappling for the swinging door before it can bang open against the wall and alert them to my presence.
I misjudge the distance. The loud smack reverberates off the fraternity house’s dingy bathroom tiles, and the couple’s wild eyes fly to me—still frozen across the threshold.
At least Jax has the decency to look embarrassed, but Tweedle-Dee perched on the pedestal sink is too glazed over with desire.
She promptly returns to my three-week escapade and crushes her lips to his again.
Jax makes no effort to resist, giving me a half-hearted shrug before returning to his terribly unsanitary make-out session.
I roll my eyes, drain the contents of my red plastic cup, and close the door.
It’s not like I care. About him, anyway.
Jax was getting clingier by the day, and I have a zero-cling policy.
I might as well be carrying a can of non-stick cooking spray and spraying the abs of each hot guy I fraternize with.
I’d rather catch any of the diseases I learned about in my undergrad health class last semester than catch feelings.
I stumble down the narrow staircase of the fraternity house, dodging other fall-break students engaging in nefarious acts.
I scan the crowded living area. The pumping bass from the second-hand speakers writhes deep in my stomach.
The room is crammed to the breaking point with loud laughter, sloshing drink cups, and kissing couples.
And then, there’s just me. Without Jax as a distraction, the music suddenly feels too loud, the laughter grating. Anxiety senses my weakness like a predator, closing in as I cling to the handrail.
The frat house’s front door slams, making me flinch. It sparks the unwelcome memory of a different door slamming last month. Has it only been a month?
I try to breathe, but the air is being siphoned from my lungs.
Unbidden shouts begin to echo from the memory.
“Did you think we wouldn’t find out?” Dad’s voice thundered.
Panic had numbed my brain, my tongue. I’d never heard him like this—Mom was usually the one shrieking when she didn’t get her way. But Dad? He’s mute half the time, a father only by blood.
“I—I…”
“You dropped out of law school and moved back without telling us?” Mom snapped. “What were you thinking, Katherine?”
“She wasn’t.” Dad’s craggy black hair shook with rage. “How could you be so stupid to throw everything away?”
Indignation lit a fire beneath my skin, but my words came out desperate. “I didn’t throw anything away, Dad! I transferred back to finish my degree from UIC. The tuition got refunded and transferred before the deadline. I tried it your way, really, but—”
“A week? You call one week giving law school a try?” Dad bellowed. “You’re smarter than this, Katherine.”
“Maybe she’s not.” Mom’s honey-colored eyes were cutting.
Angry tears slid down my cheeks. “That’s not fair! I still have a 4.0! I just refuse to live two hours away from Liza in a city I hate, majoring in something I hate even more. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Selfish,” Mom snarled. “After all we’ve done for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to!” I screamed, sobs rising. “I didn’t ask you to apply to that program! Or donate, or whatever strings you pulled to get me in! Art history is what I’m going to major in. Grandma Chen would have understood.”
Dad’s hard laugh made me shrink further against the backrest of the couch. Liza, my only sibling and older sister by eighteen months, sat beside me, clutching my hands with tears streaming down her face.
“That crazy woman had no brains,” Dad shouted. “No vision! I should have never let her buy you that camera. Art is a hobby, not a career. No daughter of mine is going to squander her future with…with… a damn paintbrush!”
Maniacal laughter bubbled through the lump in my throat. I was suddenly standing, though I didn’t remember moving.
“That!” I aimed a shaking finger at him before sweeping it sideways toward my mom. “That shows how well you guys actually know me! I suck at art!” Another hysterical laugh. “Which you two would have known if you bothered to come to my Senior Art Showcase years ago!”
My parents were taken aback. I had never stood up to them in this way before. No one had.
Liza’s brown eyes were wide as she watched me laugh-sob. I couldn’t prevent a jealous stab in my chest that her dream of getting into medical school happened only last week, for which my parents threw a party. The day before I decided to move back.
Honestly, I tried to hate Liza for years. How could I not? Growing up as the black sheep only made me acutely aware of how light and easy her life seemed. But since Liza saw the best in everyone, that also included me. And after Grandma Chen died, she became my lifeline.
My only lifeline.
I felt ready to pull out my hair. “It’s art history.
I’m going to work in a museum someday without even needing to touch a ‘damn paintbrush.’” I stalked back over to the couch.
“I’m re-enrolled at the University of Illinois Chicago.
They have the best undergraduate fine arts program in the state.
I’m going there, and I can live here at the condo with Liza again. ”
“No, you’re not.” Dad growled.
“Dad, I’ve already been accepted, and the tuition has already been transferred.”
His silver-rimmed glasses flashed. “Not what I meant. If you’re going to choose independence over brains, you’re not living here.”
My jaw dropped, a fresh wave of tears threatening to do the same. “What?”
He pointed to the door. “Get out.”
My lips quivered. “What? I-I didn’t apply for housing, Dad. You guys live in the suburbs now anyway. Please, UIC isn’t far from here—”
“Your mother and I still own this condo. As long as we do, you’re not welcome back through that door until you’ve got your head on straight.”
A sob racked Liza beside me, and I pulled her into my arms, glaring at Dad over her shoulder. I swept a pleading look at Mom. Her eyes were wide, but her lips were drawn tight.
She wasn’t going to save me.
A shoulder knocks into me on the fraternity house staircase, and I almost drop my red plastic cup.
My eyes brim with hot tears, but my feet are numb.
So I stumble into a nearby coat closet and text my lifeline of a sister.
I know I’ll bawl like a baby over anything of substance, so I stomp my feelings back down into the darkness.
My left knee bounces as I think of something to type.
KATE: Meet me by the Chicago riverbank in twenty minutes. Bring a shovel.
LIZA: Haha, you’re so dumb. Like I would risk prison to help you bury a body.
KATE: How’s the studying going?
LIZA: How did you know?
KATE: Because it's a Saturday night during fall break. Of course you’re studying.
LIZA: You don’t know that! Maybe I’m the one at a bangin’ party in a frat house.
KATE: How did you know?!
LIZA: Your track-my-location on your phone, duh. But I’m not stalking you, I swear. I only check it when I get worried.
KATE: Dunno, Liza Guyza. That’s pretty creepy.
LIZA: Shut up. Also… I miss you.
KATE: I miss you too.
LIZA: We’ll get used to this, right? For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Can’t see you spending your life in a courtroom, anyway. I mean, unless you keep burying bodies. Then you’ll practically live in one.
LIZA: I know February is three months away, but I can’t go to the Lunar New Year parades with Mom and Dad if you aren’t there. Will you come?
KATE: Yeah, I’ll come, but only for you.
LIZA: Good. I should get back to studying or I’ll be up all night. Call me tomorrow? Love you!
KATE: Love you too.
My phone goes dark, the shadows inside the closet swallowing me whole. My chest feels tight, like my parents’ expectations are forcing rubber bands around my heart. Always their puppet. Always the straight “A” butt-kisser, but I wasn’t enough.
Always…disappointing.
At that triggering word, my walls of steel rise and clamp around me. Anger thickens my skin. Never again will I allow someone close enough to call me that.
I stand and shove open the closet door, striding out with my head held high. A few newcomers jump to the side, but I don’t spare them a glance.
An entryway mirror gleams across from me, and I step in front of it to smooth down my waist-length black hair. After combing it back into place, I check my expertly smudged eyeliner.
I drift my gaze down my body, admiring the shoulder muscles starting to peek out above my strapless white top. I’ve been tiring my mind in the gym a lot lately, and I’m pleased to have something to show for it.
An edge of loneliness works its way into the periphery of my gut.
I thought that pledging last-minute to a sorority would make me feel less lonely, but I’ve never felt more alone.
Or broke. Without my parent’s assistance—something they agreed to help Liza and me with as long as we continued our education—my finances are laughably bleak.
I steel myself with a long breath. As long as I continue to work at the photography studio, I’ll survive. Plus, at least I have a place to live now. I picture my private room across campus, anxiety creeping over me like a blanket in the dark, and I shudder.
Thanks to Jax and Tweedle-Dee likely still making out upstairs, I’ll now be spending the night by myself.
Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Using men to distract me from my crappy life?
I digress.
Sighing, I bend close to the mirror to apply a fresh layer of strawberry lip gloss. The front door to the frat house flies open beside me.
It isn’t the giggling girls scampering across the threshold that catch my attention—it’s him.
Out in the driveway, a man—not a boy, but a freaking man—with cantaloupes for shoulder muscles swings his distressed jeans off a Harley.
His white tank seems to glow against his tan torso, a beacon for a desperate woman like me.
He shifts to face his friend hopping off another motorcycle, allowing my eyes to soak in the man’s rose briar tattoo sweeping across one of those massive shoulders.
Mom hates tattoos.
I stumble toward him in my six-inch heels. Goosebumps feather my shoulder blades as I cross the chilly midnight lawn. I’m unsteady, and I’m unsure if it’s due to the contents of my red plastic cup from earlier or because my pointed high heels keep sinking into the grass.
Bike Boy’s helmet swings my way, and then I’m sure I’m hallucinating.
He lifts the helmet away as inky black waves fall to his chin. Framed by thick lashes, two startling green eyes pin me in place on the grass. His rocking bod could have been featured in a Calvin Klein underwear ad. For all I know, it might be.
A cocky grin slides across his mouth. His model-worthy face is all angles, his slightly hollowed cheeks punctuated with dimpled amusement. His grin tugs further upward as he scans me from head to foot.
Something about the flash in his eye beckons me closer.
Dares me closer.
Danger seems to radiate off this man, and it’s wildly exciting.
Mom would hate him.
I think I’m in love.