19. Serena
SERENA
Sometimes there is no right choice.
You make the choice, and you make it right.
—Serena’s Secret Thoughts
“Holy shit,” Olivia gasps. “And what did he say?”
I look at myself in the mirror and rip my dress over my head. “Seriously, what are you supposed to wear on a first date with a man who’s already seen you naked?”
“Focus, Serena. One thing at a time.”
“I am focused, Livvy. I’m focused on whether going braless is sending the wrong message. What do you think?”
“I mean it’s not exactly the same as going commando. But let’s say we put a pin in that and focus on what your dad said,” she snaps, her excitement vibrating through every syllable. “Come on. The team. What did he say about the team?”
“Oh . . . right.” I add the dress to the growing pile at my feet and blow out a frustrated breath. “I miss you living here.”
“Serena Kingston,” she screeches. “I swear to God—”
“Sorry, right.” I sigh as I search through my closet for a dress that might work.
“He said he’d take it to the board. Which basically means he’s going to call your mom and get her take on it, then open way too much wine with all the aunts and uncles, and they can basically vote on my future.”
Got it. I grab a pale-pink sleeveless, flowy minidress from the hanger and smile.
Sexy but sweet without looking like I’ve spent forty-five minutes trying to find the perfect dress.
And score one for me, it’s one of the few things that make my legs look long.
Not an easy thing to do at my height. Perfect.
“And . . .” Liv nudges.
“And then he told me if King Corp. says no, he and Mom will partner with me. I mean he has to check with Mom first—”
“King Corp. would be stupid to say no. The first women’s professional soccer team in the tri-state area . . . That’s a no-brainer. Are you going to build a stadium or share Kings Stadium?”
“I’m not sure yet. Based on the projections, I think it makes more sense to partner with the Kings and rent their stadium while we build a fan base. After a few years, it might make financial sense to build. But right now, I don’t think it really does.”
“Be sure, Serena. Don’t let them push you around. You’re going to hold the majority. These decisions are going to come down to you, not the family. Not King Corp. And I am so fucking excited for you.”
“I’m excited for me too.” For as long as I can remember planning a future, it was always going to be soccer.
Playing it. Living it. Breathing it. Go D1.
Play for the national team. The Olympics.
The pros. And like a handwritten to-do list, I checked each of my goals off with the kind of satisfaction only someone as neurotic as me could enjoy.
Until one shitty slide tackle changed it all.
But this . . . this feels like getting a piece of myself back.
This feels right. Like I could be good at this. Like maybe I could still turn my love of soccer into a dream career.
Soccer but different.
Not bad. Just new.
“Shit.” My phone slips from my hand onto the plush carpet as I slide the dress over my head. “Sorry.”
“When are they meeting?” Liv asks while I hunt for shoes.
“I’m not sure. I think he was talking to your mom tonight.” Scarlet runs the football team King Corp. owns, while dad runs the Revolution. And together, they’re president and vice president of King Corp. We’re all about keeping it in the family.
“Okay, fine. I need more details,” she laughs. Actually laughs, like any of this is funny.
“Listen you, I’m one step away from losing my shit.” I groan as I reach for a box on a shelf above my head, because where else would the shoes I want be? Some days I hate being short.
“Better than one step away from an anxiety attack. I’d say that’s an improvement. Go you.”
“I hate you,” I groan because she’s not wrong.
“You love me. Admit it.”
I buckle the ankle on my brown leather sandals and stare at my reflection for a moment.
Pink dress, loose waves, minimal makeup .
. . I look at the diamond stud earrings I’ve worn nearly every day since my twentieth birthday.
The ones Hendrix gave me. The ones I’ve refused to give up. Is it weird to wear them tonight?
My doorbell rings, robbing me of the chance to overthink the answer, and I pop them both on. “I do love you, Livvy.”
“Good—because we need to talk.”
“I can’t talk now. Hendrix is here.” I grab my purse and make my way down the stairs. “Soon though, okay?”
“Love you, Serena.” She hesitates. “Have fun.”
I end the call, stuff my phone in my purse, take a single steadying breath, and open the door.
That’s when every thought I’ve ever had about taking things slow and protecting my heart leaves my head.
Standing beneath the dim porch light, in dark jeans, white sneakers, another crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a thick leather watch wrapped around his wrist is the only man to ever own my heart.
And holy arm porn, Batman, does this man look good. “You’re wearing your glasses.”
Black frames, dark hair, a jaw chiseled from granite, and that stupid sexy mouth curling into a delicious grin have my heart beating a drumbeat behind my ribs that would make any band jealous.
He turns his devastating smile on me. “Figured I had to pull out the big guns.”
I can’t help the laugh that slips out. It feels like a lifetime ago the first time I told him he looked like Clark Kent with those glasses on. “Okay, Superman . . .”
Something changes in his expression, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.
His gaze drifts over me from the top of my hair down to my toes, and heat crawls up my body. “You look incredible, Serena.”
“Thank you,” I offer softly and pull out my keys. “Let me just lock up.”
Seconds later, his palm settles against the small of my back, barely a touch, but it wakes up something inside me that’s been dormant for longer than I’d like to admit.
We walk toward the massive black SUV sitting in my driveway, and Hendrix opens my door and steps aside.
“Got a curfew tonight, Kingston? Because dinner might run a little late.”
I step up on the running board and slide into the passenger seat before turning back to him.
This man who’s known me most of my life.
Who’s loved me and held me when I cried, cheered me on, and broke my fucking heart.
He’s known almost every version of me. Almost. And I can’t stop wondering how we got here and if I’m really going to be able to do this.
“I mean.” I pull the seatbelt across my chest and click it into place. “Even Cinderella had to be home by midnight, right?”
His eyes flash as he nods and closes the door.
I guess it’s time to find out whether I can really do this.
Hendrix
Don’t fuck this up is the only thought running through my head as we pull away from Serena’s house. Well, that and don’t stare at her legs. Don’t touch her legs, for that matter.
Fuck.
That dress.
This woman . . .
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks from the passenger seat as we head out of town and toward the bridge into Jersey. She’s a fucking goddess come to life and sitting next to me. One I never expected to see sitting there again.
“Come on now, princess. You’re not really surprised, right?” I glance her way and catch her eyes as they narrow. I missed that look. The one she’d give me when she was trying to act pissed but wasn’t.
I missed being the person she looked at. The last one she saw before she closed her eyes and the first one she saw in the morning when I woke her up with my head between her fucking legs. We only got a few months of living together but it was enough to know that was what I wanted.
That summer was supposed to be the start of everything.
Not the end.
“I said I wasn’t hiding anymore, but I’d never really take your choice away. I thought we could spend tonight figuring it out somewhere a little less Kroydon-Hills-heavy.”
She shakes her head and turns toward the passenger window, trying to hide the smile pulling at her lips.
And why does that one small smile feel like such an important win?
I want to reach across the center console and take her hand in mine.
But that’s not what she needs. Not yet. Tonight is about proving we can still work. That we’re worth fighting for. That we’re not as broken as we were. So I keep both hands on the wheel, hoping this was a good idea and not a nightmare waiting to blow up in my face.
Instead, I let the music fill the silence as we head over the bridge and hop on the Atlantic City Expressway.
“The beach?” she whispers finally. “We’re going to the beach?”
“Yeah. I figured this time of year, the beach is empty, and the restaurants are running on skeleton crews. Why not take advantage of your favorite place?”
“It was,” she says, a cool edge to her voice.
“Still is,” I say quietly, hedging my bet. Because whether she likes it or not, I know this woman.
Serena’s eyes flick my way before quickly going back to the passing highway. “How can you be so sure?”
“A lot of things may have changed, Serena, but your soul didn’t. And your soul was always at peace at the beach.”
We had good memories at the beach.
Seemed like as good a place as any to try to fix what’s broken.
The candle between us flickers as the wind rolls in off the bay while we sit under the awning at our favorite restaurant.
We had this place on speed dial the last summer we spent here.
The summer before it all went to hell. They’ve redone the deck, refinished the bar, and gotten new tables and removable windows since then, but the guy playing the guitar in the corner is the same.
The relaxed vibes are the same. And the lack of anyone we know here is thankfully the same.
I lean back in my chair and stretch my legs until my foot is next to hers. “I heard a rumor . . .”