Charlie
“Everything will feel better in the morning, Charlie.”My grandmother’s voice is crystal clear in my mind, even though the memory comes from a long time ago. I don’t even remember what she was reassuring me about, but it had to have been about my parents.“Just you wait, littlest love. When the sun shines, warming your face, and the birds chirp to greet the day…everything will feel better.”
My grandmother had let out this peal of laughter when I shot her the most dubious look I could muster before telling me, “And you know what? One day, you’ll be grown enough to start drinking coffee.”She had reached out, cupping my cheeks with her weathered hands, blue eyes bright with mirth. “Nothing will stop you then.”
I’ve always used that conversation as a reminder not to let myself linger in the dark moments—especially once the sun lights up a different side, giving me a fresh perspective.
None of it rings true this morning. I’m even nursing a cup of coffee, but my heart is just as sore as it was before I went to sleep.
Barrett glances up from where he’s scrambling eggs, crispy bacon already resting on a paper towel beside the stove. “You want toast?”
My smile is wan, and his brows knit together. “No. Thanks.”
His eyes linger on my face, taking in the dark smudges under my eyes. “You sure? You should eat.”
I lift my mug. “I’m good.” His expression tightens with displeasure, so I quickly add, “I’ll eat something later. Promise.”
Barrett hesitates before he nods, plating up his breakfast and standing across from me to eat. I look down at the murky liquid of my coffee, trying to ignore the way he’s watching me between mouthfuls—as if he’s gauging how close I am to falling apart.
“You don’t look so hot.”
My head snaps up, my voice coming out defensive, sharp. “Because your couch is a piece of shit.”
Barrett gives me a roguish smile, pointing a forkful of bacon in my direction. “That couch is full of memories. Did you know I lost my virginity on that beautiful piece of furniture?”
My mouth drops open, horror filling me as I look at the couch and then back at him. In just those few seconds, His smile simmers into something more mischievous—a familiar expression that taunted me far too often growing up.
“You didn’t,” I state.
Barrett lets out a loud laugh. “I didn’t,” he agrees. “You know I lost it to Jessica Blackwood in the back of her daddy’s car.” I wrinkle my nose, wishing I didn’t actually know that. “Anyway, I got that couch when I was twenty-two. You really think it took that long for me to get laid?” He catches sight of my expression and scowls. “Don’t answer that.”
I snort, feeling just a little lighter as I finish my lukewarm coffee. We fall into a comfortable silence as Barrett finishes his breakfast and tidies up. He’s just drying his dishes when he looks at me. “So, you’re moving out.”
My shoulders go tense. “I guess.”
Barrett tips his chin. “You know you’re welcome herefor as long as you like, but…” He grimaces as he looks around the small apartment. When I don’t answer, he asks carefully, “Would you go back to your parents’?”
The sound I make is less amused and more one of bitter disbelief. “No way. I go to my monthly dinners, and I refuse to suffer through more than that.”
“Fair enough.” Barrett’s spent more than enough time with my family as we grew up to know exactly what they’re like. My mother has never been fussed about having an audience when she starts in on me, and he’s learned that trying to defend me just makes it worse. Instead, he usually picks me up afterward, carefully gluing all the pieces my mother slices off me back into place.
Barrett is more family to me than anyone else.
Well, maybe not family.But definitely a piece of furniture—the kind you’re too sentimental to throw away, even if it’s ugly as hell, so you hide it away in a damp, dark basement.
“Kayla has a spare room,” I say quietly, naming my cousin. Out of everyone in my family, she’s the closest to me in age. “She might be willing to rent it out to me.”
There’s a slight twitch to Barrett’s lips at her name before he nods. “That would give you time to find something else,” he says. “Take the pressure off.”
I glance over to the far side of his apartment, to where three cardboard boxes are stacked in one corner. “You don’t mind holding onto my books a little longer, do you?”
Barrett huffs out an amused sound. “I’m pretty sure they just add to the rustic decor,” he murmurs, watching me. “Do you want me to come with you? This morning, I mean.”
I stare at him while I think about it, remembering Dillon’s angry texts and Bliss’s casual cruelty, the wordspouring so easily from her lips. I think about how everything I own is in that apartment, and how, for almost two years, Dillon has been my life.
“Yes.” I exhale heavily, my eyes burning. “I want you to come with me.”
It’sanother two hours before I feel ready to face Dillon. I keep my phone off, knowing I won’t be able stop reading his messages again. I want to go into this as neutrally as I can. When Barrett and I head to my apartment, I’m dressed in another shirt of his and a pair of his sweats—which means walking with the waistband hiked up so they don’t slip and give everyone a morning peep show.
