8. Serena
SERENA
Windows down. Music loud. Hair up.
Questionable dance moves and even worse singing happening.
Do not judge me at a red light. I’m just trying to survive.
—Serena’s Secret Thoughts
Some people are bath people. They love to luxuriate in the warm water and read a book or drink a glass of wine. I’m barely a shower person. Not like I don’t take showers—because I do, every day. More like I don’t want to be in there any longer than I have too.
My mind rarely shuts off, and confined spaces don’t do me any favors.
I obsess over everything. Every choice I’ve made that day.
Every argument I should have had but was too much of a people-pleasing pushover to fight back.
All the things I could have said but in the heat of the moment never occurred to me. In the shower, I win all the arguments.
Sometimes, I think that’s why I love soccer so much. On the field, the noise stops. It’s the ball and my team and me. We all have the same goal. And I don’t second-guess myself.
I have a place and a purpose.
Something I’m seriously lacking at the moment, which hasn’t helped my anxiety.
Audiobooks have helped. They keep my mind busy.
Something I’ve learned makes all the difference.
White-noise machines don’t work. I need words.
The more familiar, the better. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve re-listened to some of my favorite romantasy books.
They’ve quickly become comfort reads . . . or more specifically, listens.
But tonight, I’m drying my hair when Violet is about to break her armoire, and my phone rings with Mom’s ringtone. Because apparently, today hasn’t been enough of a shit show.
“Hey, Mom.” I switch her over to speaker and bring her with me into my bedroom to throw on pajamas.
“Hi, honey. How are you?” Daphne Kingston isn’t like most of my aunts.
She’s not as loud or as in your face. Not that in your face is a bad thing, but most of my aunts wear their power on their sleeves.
Mom’s heart is so big, there’s no room for anything else to be there.
She’s softer. Easier-going, for the most part, but just as powerful.
She just wields her power softly, with a designer-labeled velvet glove instead of a closed iron fist.
She’s also constantly trying to soften the blows Dad doesn’t realize he’s throwing. She’s done it my whole life.
“I’m okay. How about you?” I look at the time as I slide on my cotton shorts. “It’s a little late for you. Is everything okay?”
“How about you tell me, Serena.” Her voice softens.
The words taste sour in my mouth before I ask them. “Dad told you?”
“Oh, sweet girl, I’ve known for days. The better question is why, if you were so unhappy with the Revolution, didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s your team, Mom. Before it was ever Dad’s, it was yours. You love the Revolution. I knew how happy you were—you both were—with the idea of me taking it over.”
“Because it gave you a direction, Serena. You’re floundering without soccer. I’d hoped the team would help give you purpose again because you’ve been acting like you have none since the doctors said you weren’t coming back this time.”
I lean back against the wall and slowly slide down to my ass, already exhausted by this conversation. “I don’t need either of you to give me purpose, Mom. I just need time to find it myself.”
“And quitting is the answer?” she asks as kindly as she can, but her opinion comes through loud and clear. And I get it. We don’t quit is kind of a Kingston mantra.
“It is when I’m miserable, Mom.” My words are clipped before I take a beat and soften my tone. “I need space, and I’m not getting it working with Dad.”
“Are you sure it’s Dad you’re running away from?”
With my phone resting on my knees, I stare at the screen, glad she can’t see my face. “I’m not running from anything. I’m done pretending I’m happy, and the first step in fixing that is giving myself the room to figure out what direction I’ll be happier with.”
She waits a few long moments, and in my head, I can picture her calling my bluff.
But that’s the thing . . . I’m not bluffing.
I’m not happy.
I haven’t been.
Hendrix wasn’t the cause.
He was the final nail in the coffin.
“I love you, Mom. You and Dad. I even love the team. But it’s not where I belong.” I lift the phone and push back up to my feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have called you as soon as I gave my notice. But in my defense, it’s been a fucked up few weeks.”
“Serena Kingston . . .”
“Sorry. Messed up,” I laugh because my mother likes to act like crass language offends her, but it’s just an act. She curses like a sailor whenever she chooses to. She just doesn’t choose it often.
“I’d like it if you’d stop by the house soon. It would be nice to see your face before your cousin’s wedding.”
Shit.
Ryker’s wedding . . . in two weeks . . . where Hendrix is likely to be the best man.
Fuck me.
“Can’t get enough of me, little Kingston?” Rafe asks as I stand outside his front door in my pajamas. I mean, they’re lavender-striped cotton shorts and a tank top, so it’s not like it’s lingerie. But as his eyes linger, I pull the cardigan I threw over them a little tighter.
“You stole my roommate, and I want her back,” I demand, skirting around him as I let myself inside the house my new friend shares with both of his brothers and sister, which means he also shares it with his new sister-in-law/my best friend. “She was mine first.”
I’m only half kidding.
She was mine first, and some days, I think she’s the only person who understands me in all my messed-up glory.
Rafe closes the door carefully, like he thinks I might bolt .
. . or more accurately, completely lose my shit.
The latter of which is currently much closer to happening.
I swallow down the spiraling emotions that’ve gotten the better of me on my drive here.
“Rafe, please . . . I need to talk to Liv.”
“There’s this thing called a phone.” He pulls his from his pocket and holds it up like I don’t know what one is. I know. I didn’t actually plan on driving here. I just needed to get out of my house and somehow ended up here.
A bone-deep weariness chooses now to settle, frigid and numbing and in complete contrast to the hot tears I refuse to cry, which are burning the backs of my eyes.
“Shit,” he mutters as his fingers fly across his screen. “She’s upstairs. Last door on the right.”
“Thank you,” I murmur and force one foot in front of the other as I climb the winding staircase.
The Langleys’ home is beautiful. The entire ranch looks like something out of Yellowstone.
I half expect Kevin Costner to step out of a room with a cowboy hat on.
But I guess that’s what happens when your family trains some of the world’s most expensive racehorses.
I bite down on my lower lip, hesitant as I raise my knuckles to the door.
“Serena?” Olivia throws the door open, her face paling as tears fill my eyes. “What’s going on?”
My words get stuck in my throat as my eyes lock on Logan standing protectively behind her.
“How about I give you both some space?” he asks, and Liv wraps her arms around me and nods as Logan lets himself out of the room.
“Barbie,” she sighs and tucks my hair behind my ears as I wrap my arms around her. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring myself, Liv. I’m so fucking tired.” I pull back as my chest shakes. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Absolutely nothing is wrong with you, Serena. You’re going through hell.
You need to find yourself again. You. Not who your dad wants you to be.
Not who you used to be. You need to figure out what’s going to make you happy.
And you need to do it outside of the perfect little box our family has had you in your whole life. ”
“Why does it sound easy when you say it?” I ask, trying to control my spiraling thoughts. “I feel like I’m drowning again.”
“You’re not. You’re here with me. You’re safe, and you’re going to be okay.”
“I saw Hendrix today,” I admit as she guides me to the bed, and we both sit.
“And . . .”
“And . . . I want to hate him so goddamned badly, Livvy. And sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I want to scream at him. But sometimes, I look at him, and I see the only person I ever felt like I could be myself with.” She cocks her head to the side, and I smile through the tears. “Besides you.”
“Better.”
The room quiets as I breathe, trying to regain some semblance of control. Trying but failing miserably. “He texted tonight and wanted to know if I was with Rafe.”
“With him, like with him?”
I nod, and she laughs. “Have you ever considered that it’s just as hard for him as it is for you?”
She rests her head against the pillow, and I rest mine on her shoulder. “How could it be? He married her. They have a child together. He moved on. He was happy, and then he lost her. Knowing he’s been through that hell makes me feel like I’m being stupid and childish.”
“You are not childish or stupid, Serena. You’re hurt. He’s not the only person who lost something.”
I’m not sure how much time has passed when the door cracks open, followed by footsteps that stop on the other side of the bed.
“Is she okay?” Logan asks Liv, whose running her fingers through my hair.
“She will be,” Olivia says softly, and my heart sinks. She and I have always done this. We’ve crawled into each other’s beds and shared our secrets and our tears. We don’t hide from each other. But neither of us was ever married before. “Are you okay if she stays the night?”
“Here?” Logan asks, his voice comically high. “In our bed?”
“Our bed, huh?” she asks, and I wonder how long it’s going to take my beautiful cousin to realize she’s really falling for her fake husband.
“You’re sleeping in it with me.” Logan’s voice drops low, and I fight the urge to gag. “Aren’t you, wife?”
“I guess I am, husband.” Her teasing takes on a new tone, and I think I might vomit.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Logan. Just get in bed and get used to this. She’s your wife, but she’s my person, and I still trump you,” I finally snap without opening my eyes.
Livvy must agree with me because she laughs. “It’s a big bed, Logan. Don’t try to move me out of the way to get to my cousin, and we’ll be just fine.”
Based on the way the bed sinks, I think it’s safe to assume Logan chooses to go with it.
“Remember, husband,” Liv warns. “Hands to yourself.”
It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve all slept in a bed together, but it might just be the last.