Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Coy
“Missed you too, Bellamy.”
I touch my cheek, fighting a grin, as I take the steps two at a time toward my childhood bedroom. My skin is swollen and warm to the touch, but thankfully, the pain has settled down. That’s probably because I’m too distracted to focus on it much.
My lips twist in amusement as I replay my interaction with Bellamy Raquel Davenport.
“That wasn’t the worst thing I ever said about you.”
That’s the one thing that sticks out about our conversation. It’s more prominent than Bells’s shock at seeing me, the way she tried to hide a smile, and the way her voice slides over me like a well-worn hoodie.
I check out my cheek in the mirror over my dresser and replay that line in my head.
It’s a typical Bellamy thing to say to me, and one that’s probably true to some degree.
Our friendship has always been one based on snark, walking a fine line between bickering and teasing.
We’re two alpha personalities—oil and water in many ways.
But, at the same time, we’ve always been drawn to each other.
We’ve had a connection that’s hard to put my finger on since we were kids.
Bellamy has always been headstrong. Hell, the girl was suspended in seventh grade for refusing to wear a skirt while the boys got to wear pants.
Her act of defiance resulted in a month-long grounding from her father …
and a change in St. James’s dress code. She cut her hair when she was fifteen because her dad forbade her to do it, and Bellamy tried to join the football team because someone assumed she’d be a cheerleader. She’s a powerhouse in her own right.
And I fucking love it.
Still, her ferocity toward me seems to have leveled-up. Something about it doesn’t quite sit right with me.
Knock! Knock!
The sound catches me off guard. I turn to see Boone, the youngest of us five Mason boys, standing in the doorway.
Boone scratches the top of his head and watches me with a quirked brow.
There’s a curious glimmer in his eyes—eyes the exact color as mine. People thought we were twins growing up. Being eighteen months apart will do that to you. It didn’t help, either, that we were always together. It was me, Boone, our cousin Larissa, and her best friend … Bellamy.
Until it wasn’t.
“Did you just get up?” he asks.
“Nah, I’ve been up a while. Holt’s dumb ass woke me up about an hour ago.”
“Been up long enough to find trouble then, huh?” He grins as he walks inside my room, grabs my desk chair, and spins it around. He settles in like we’re about to have a casual conversation. “Anything interesting happen today?”
He knows Bellamy was here. I can see it in his eyes.
“Nope,” I say, fighting a grin of my own. “Just had some cereal and then contemplated the conundrums of life.”
He snorts. “Thinking about Bellamy, I see.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He laughs. “Well, the purple welt on your face would give you away if I didn’t already know. Bells texted me and threatened to break my legs because I didn’t warn her you were home.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Tell her that.”
“Ha. She’d probably break mine if I walk over there to tell her.” I glance out the window toward the Davenport’s house. “Why does that sound kind of hot?”
“Because you’re all sorts of fucked up.”
“Probably true.” I shrug and pull my gaze back to my brother. “So, what are you doing today?”
“Oh, just avoiding Holt like my life depends on it.” Boone shakes his head. “He wants to send me to Portland for some meeting this weekend, and I don’t want to go. It has nothing to do with me.”
“But you work for him, right?”
Boone looks disgusted. “Why do you have to put it like that?”
I laugh as I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hell, I love Portland. I’d go with you if I didn’t have to keep my head down.”
“How long do you have to lie low?”
“Until Meadow tells me I can come up for air.” Frustration sweeps over me. “It’s a bunch of bullshit. Why do I have to hide like I did something wrong when Willa broke our contract? She fucked this up, not me. Yet I’m being punished for it.”
Stress pulls across the back of my neck, and I grab it with my hand.
How did this go so wrong?
I was supposed to be in Nashville this weekend. Larissa’s boyfriend, Hollis, was coming up, and we were going to work on some new music for my new album. It was going to be his first time in a studio, and he was pumped. I was pumped. The creativity was flowing.
Now it’s not. Because apparently continuing with your life—including being at home and writing new material—means I’m a soul-sucking ex-boyfriend from hell, and the tabloids are just waiting to expound upon that.
I sigh.
“Well, it is bullshit when you put it like that,” Boone admits. “You know that you’re the one everyone is going to blame for Willa’s breakdown. But, dude, why the hell did she have to meltdown on Sunset Boulevard? She could’ve chosen a more private spot.”
“Yeah, you think?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked myself a hundred times.
A part of me feels like this thing with Willa is a setup—that this month’s public demonstration of our “relationship” was in Los Angeles so Willa could make a show of having her so-called heart broken.
Why else did she realize her feelings weren’t reciprocated on one of the most visible spots in all of California—feelings that I’m pretty freaking sure don’t exist in the first place?
I don’t want to believe that. But I kind of do. It makes a whole lot of sense.
“That’s the price you pay for fame, right?” Boone shrugs.
“I guess. I just don’t need this bullshit right now. Meadow just worked out my contract with the label for my next two albums, and I need to be collaborating. Creating. I need to be in the damn zone, Boone. Not in my parents’ house.”
He senses my foul mood and changes the subject.
“What are you going to do while you’re waiting to get back to your life?” Boone asks. “Just hang out with Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know. Write music, if I can.” I stretch my arms overhead and yawn. “I need to see if Hollis is coming down here this weekend now that the Nashville trip is canceled.”
Boone nods. “Larissa is head over fucking heels for him.”
“She could’ve done worse.”
“That’s for damn sure. Division One football player who treats her like gold—”
“And who can write lyrics like people write grocery lists.” I shake my head. “Never thought I’d like one of Riss’s boyfriends but here we are.”
Boone’s phone chirps, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He laughs as his fingers fly across the screen.
“Speaking of the devil,” he says. “It’s Larissa. I don’t think Bellamy threatened to break her legs over you being home, but threats were made.”
I grin. “You can’t call Bellamy uncommitted.”
Boone laughs again, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “Bellamy is the most uncommitted woman I’ve ever met.”
My ears perk up.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Bellamy has commitment phobia. I told her that I was buying her a cat for her birthday so she can get started on her old cat lady routine because that girl’s going to be alone for the rest of her life—by choice.”
I try not to look interested because I’m not. Not for any reason other than I’m nosy.
Sure, I get tidbits of Bellamy’s life from Boone and Larissa here and there, but it’s nothing I poke around about much.
I’m too busy for that shit. And the last text I got from her told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business.
But being home—and seeing her—makes me curious about what’s been going on with her.
I want to catch up. And I definitely want to see her smile, even if it’s while she’s telling me to fuck off.
Besides, what else do I have to do?
“What does she do these days, anyway?” I ask as casually as I can.
“She’s a nanny, which I find hysterical because I don’t think she really even likes kids. She dates a lot, if you can call it that. Hangs out with Riss. She quit her job and moved to her dad’s guest house once he got sick. She doesn’t want to get too far from him.”
On reflex, my attention skips to the building behind the Davenport’s home next door.
Mom told me that Joseph Davenport had colon cancer. I called Bells about it when I found out, but she didn’t answer. I shot her a text instead, and she told me she was fine … and that her new boyfriend didn’t appreciate me texting her.
Which was a load of bullshit.
But I acquiesced because I didn’t want to cause her more problems. I just checked in with Mom about him from time to time and snuck over to see him when I was home a couple of times. What else could I do?
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
Boone shrugs. “It just got upgraded … downgraded? I don’t know the right term for something like this. Anyway, it’s now a stage four-something. It’s not good. But Bellamy manages it pretty well. You know her …”
You’d never know if she was handling it well or not. That’s not how Bellamy works.
“Well, if you’re good, then I think I’m going to head to Gramps’s and watch some golf,” Boone says. “I know Holt won’t look for me there.”
“You’re hiding out from our brother at our grandpa’s? This is where you are in life?”
“Absolutely.” He gets up and heads for the door. “Wanna come?”
I chuckle. “Nah. I’m gonna sit here and try to be productive.” Or go back to bed.
Boone pauses at the door and tries to hide a smile. “Holt said to tell you not to forget to take the trash out.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
He laughs. “I’m not telling him shit. I’m avoiding him, remember?”
“I might go by his office today and just bother him. Keep him from getting anything done.”
“If you get bored later, I’ll be home around five or so. I can help you write music.” He pats an uneven beat on his leg just to mess with me. “Did you get a rental car?”
I nod.
“Good.” He heads out the door. “I’ll catch ya around.”
“See ya, Boone.”
He waves over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.