Prologue
End of August . . .
“What do you mean I can’t go home? I thought I was free to go—be an outpatient, as of today?” I didn’t think I could be any happier to finally be disconnected from all those damn machines, but right now, I’m ecstatic nobody can see or hear my heartbeat, or track my breathing rate. Why am I getting so sweaty? Why can’t I catch my breath? Why is my vision getting hazy? They said the minute I could hobble around on crutches for twenty feet, at a minimum, I could go home. I worked my ass off to be able to do that. Why the hell are they changing their minds now?
I turn to look at Ronan, my best friend, looking for a damn explanation—and it better be good. Needing no prompting, he says, “You live on the third floor of a walk-up. Did you really think you were gonna be able to go home?” I can hear the sarcasm in his voice.
Fuck. He’s right. I can barely walk up and down the hall as it is, I think, as the panic sets in.
What the hell am I supposed to do? Where the hell am I supposed to go? I highly doubt any of my siblings want to take me in. At this point, I’d be surprised if my own mother wants me in her house . . .
It wasn’t too long ago that I blew a gasket at the bunch of them. There’s just too much fussing, too much noise, too much touching, too much talking when they’re all around. I like my peace and quiet. Hell, it’s why I’m an accountant—I can work from home and don’t have to deal with idiots.
Finally, Ronan cuts through my thoughts by saying, “You’re gonna go live with Sloane.”
“Your sister?” I ask for confirmation. He can’t mean to tell me that I’m moving in with his younger sister? Surprisingly, or not really if I’m being honest with myself, my heart rate slows, and my vision comes back. Somehow, even after not having seen little Sloane Callahan since that fateful summer night seven years ago, just the thought of her can still calm me down. I can’t say we ended on good terms, though, so I doubt she agreed to let me move in with her.
I wonder if she’s still as shy and quiet as she used to be, or if she’s grown into herself. I wonder if her hair is actually as soft as it seems like in all those pictures Ronan has shown me over the years—These pain killers are really doing their job if I’m thinking of Sloane Callahan’s hair.
“Yeah, she has a single-story house, and the university where she’s doing her PhD, and teaching, has an amazing outpatient rehab program. It’s the best of the best, if I’m being honest. The doctors even agreed that it’s the bestplace you could be. Plus, Sloane works long hours, so you’ll mostly have the house to yourself. There’s a nice park not far from her house too, and a couple of coffee houses that you can check out. She often walks to work, and I’m sure she’ll let you borrow her car . . . once you can drive again,” he adds, finally taking a breath.
He’s laying it on thick—just thick enough to distract me from the fact that I can’t go back home.
He could just be honest with me and tell me that not one of my five siblings wants me to move in with them. Hannah, my sister’s best friend and honorary Jones sibling, I understand, considering she just moved in with her boyfriend. My sister, Summer, I can understand as well. The woman hasn’t had an address in Canada in years, and honestly, I don’t know my sister as well as I should. And Lawson, as the youngest, doesn’t need me cramping his style. He just got his own apartment after having lived with a bunch of siblings and then in a dorm room.
But the other two—Levi and Lincoln—I don’t understand. Levi is a heartbroken mess over Lacey, and Lincoln . . . he owns more properties than he knows what to do with. Not to mention, they all have at least one guest room on the main floor in their houses, including Ronan himself.
I mean, I know I’m an asshole and have been unbearable since the accident—getting hit by a car will do that to you—I just wonder what Sloane did to her brother for her to feel guilty enough to agree to have me move in with her.
Chapter 1
Present . . .
November third.
How is it already November third?
At first I thought Ronan was joking when he told me—yes,told, not asked—that Liam Jones was moving in with me. I know he was hit by a car, but why does he have to move withme? I thought it was a stupid prank because I was madlyin lovewith him when I was teenager. And even though my little infatuation has been buried deep, deep inside me, never to be spoken of again, it doesn’t mean I’m my normal self with him. If anything, I’m a clumsy, babbling fool of a girl whenever he’s around . . . orwasaround.
It’s for that reason, and that reason alone—not because he was always rocking a backwards hat—that I’ve avoided him for years. After what shall be known asThe Incident, I made sure to disappear and never cross paths with him again. Which is hard, with him being Ronan’s brother-from-another-mother and all that. It’s even the reason I did my undergrad and masters at UMC—University of Montreal City.
I thought I was still far enough away, here in Victoria, considering he still lives in our home city of Vancouver, but apparently I can’t escape him any longer. According to his sister Summer and my brother, I’m the only one who has a house without any stairs. Which I know is a lie; I’ve visited and kept in touch with the other Jones siblings over the years so I know Lawson has an apartment with elevator access, and Levi has a guest room on his main floor.
I bought this house a few months ago, after deciding that this is where I want to settle down with the life insurance money I finally got access to, from Mom’s death. I thought moving to the city where she grew up, where she met and fell in love with my dad, would bring me closer to her. And while I never had the chance to meet her, I hope she likes my home.
I chose this one because of all the windows. All the sunlight let me start my own jungle in the house, to the point that I’ve lost count of how many plants I have everywhere. They make me happy, what can I say? That and the big fenced-in backyard—I needed something to contain Gigi. She might be a miniature dachshund, but she gets into anything and everything.
Liam better not complain about Gigi or the plants. From what I remember, he isn’t a big fan of anything with fur. Not because he’s allergic, the guy just loves being a grump. I swear he hates anything on four legs just because he can.
As for the plants, I am not taking them out of the guest room he’ll be sleeping in. He can deal, like a big boy. I say that now, but watch me take them out of the guest room the second he asks . . .
No, I tell myself, straightening my shoulders. I will not bend to his demands. I’m really working on the people-pleasing thing . . . so far, though, it’s been tough. Tougher than I want to admit. I mean, just the other day, I gave a student a twenty-four-hour extension on a paper because she had “forgotten” it had been due that exact date . . .
And on that note, I need to clean up around here, especially since Ronan texted me a couple of hours ago telling me they would be here around two o’clock. Not that the house is dirty, but I do have a lot of stuff to do. Despite only being twelve pounds, Gigi creates mess and destruction like a seventy-five-pound dog. I should probably dust my plant before he gets here too—I haven’t done it this week.
No.
I can’t be doing that when he walks in; I don’t want him to think I’m still too much.
