Ten heavy feet stomp through the living room to the door, and just before it clicks shut, I hear Lawson say, “I can’t believe he has a fucking cat. Did you guys know he has a cat?”
Then silence. I’m relieved by it and hate it all at the same time.
Meow.
I look down at Percy, who is licking his lips and staring up at me, hoping for more snacks.
“I’m all out, little man. Sorry.”
Meow.
He wiggles in my arms, trying to squirm free, and I let him go. He trots across the room to my bed, curls up on my pillow—his second favorite spot in the house—and closes his eyes like he’s exhausted from his excursion.
I have to agree. I’m exhausted too. I spent most of the night tossing and turning or lying awake replaying every second of last night, from the way that navy dress clung to Chloe’s curves to the way her face fell when I yelled at her on the sidewalk.
So, I do what any sensible person would do when their estranged wife comes barreling back into their life—I crawl into bed and close my eyes, pretending it was all just a bad dream.
For the second time today, I’m awakened by a loud knock on my door.
“Ugh!” I grit my teeth together, then grab my pillow—now cold and empty—and put it over my head to try to drown out the noise.
It doesn’t work.
“Go away!” I yell at my teammates, then peek at the clock on my bedside table.
It’s almost eleven, which means I’ve been sleeping for just over two hours. Based on how heavy and tired my eyes are, it’snot enough, and I guess my words aren’t enough either because they knock again.
“That’s it,” I grumble as I jump out of bed. It’s quick enough to scare Percy, who goes running as fast as his three legs can carry him, darting off to I don’t even know where.
I wrench open my bedroom door and stomp through the living room to the door just as he raps his knuckles against it again.
“Back off, you fuckers. Don’t you get that I don’t want to talk? Fuck!” I growl as I fling open the door.
Only it’s not Locke. Or Hutch, Hayes, Fox, or Lawson.
No.
It’s simultaneously the last person and the only person I want to see right now.
“Clover.”
The side of her mouth rises ever so slightly. “Callum.”
And just like that, I’m transported back to the first time my name dropped from her lips.
CHAPTER 4
CHLOE
Twelve years ago
“Then I said to him,Dan, you cannot drink two Red Bullsandhave a quad espresso and expectnotto have heart flutters. It’s just creative writing. It’s notthatserious.” Talia huffs. “Like, come on. We’re freshmen. We’re supposed to be having fun, not staying up and slamming caffeine all night for a paper that’s not even worth five percent of our final grade. He needs to chill.”
I want to remind my best friend that our parents aren’t paying an arm and a leg for us to party, but I fear that would be a fruitless endeavor, so I smile and nod as we make our way to the very course she’s talking about. We may only be a few weeks into school, but it’s already my favorite class, though that’s really no surprise. Writing has always been my outlet. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing—journaling about my day, making up a short story, or even writing a research paper for school—it’s like my brain comes alive when I put pen to paper, and all my insecurities and worries fall away. If I had my way, it’s what I would be focusing on for my studies. But, since my parents arepaying for my education, they felt they had a say, so biology major it is, just like them.
“I mean, we’re in freakin’college, Chlo. We got out of our tiny Tennessee town. That calls for some fun.”
It’s funny to me how much a person can change once they leave their hometown. Just a few short months ago, Talia was the biggest bookworm I knew. Her nose was always stuck in a textbook, and I used to have to beg her to leave her house on Friday nights, even just to head to the theater to catch the latest movie. Now, I can’t seem to keep her in our room for more than five minutes before she’s running off to whatever new activity or boy has sparked her interest.
