Hiya Readers
Things get moving pretty quickly in this book. I hope everyone enjoys!
xoxo Dana
Chapter Two
The air outside is cold, and this overshirt isn’t thick enough to block the chill. But it’s refreshing compared to the interior. Now that it’s after midnight, the crowd is thick and overwhelming, and the apartment is hot—made more so by being wrapped in Xander’s arms for four or five songs. I lost track.
University Park is the largest of the upperclassmen housing options at Bradford. It’s a series of two-story buildings with two apartments on each level and four students per apartment, like Brent and his friends. Between the buildings are occasional maintenance sheds and small green spaces with picnic tables and young oak trees. Outside and in, the apartments are exact copies with the same structure, same furniture, same breakfast bar, same barstools.
Last year, I came to this area twice. Zane’s apartment was only two buildings over—easily visible from where I now stand.
In the opposite direction, the landscape is equally bland.
A few other party-goers are outside. No one I know. Halloween is one of the biggest parties on campus, but most are on Frat Row. I have no interest in attending one of those.
The only reason I’m here is because Dahlia was kind enough to invite me and my friends. We don’t talk often, despite sharing an apartment in the Towers, one of the nicer upperclassmen housing options and the tallest building on campus. But that has far more to do with my being a recluse than anything. She has been nothing but nice since we moved in. It felt rude to decline.
Behind me, the door opens and closes. Uneven footsteps approach on the concrete. Another drunk person.
I pull out my phone to check my messages. I never responded to Imogene—not that she’s unused to my silence, especially in regards to our mother’s upcoming nuptials—but she hasn’t pressed the matter. No new texts. Yet.
“Having a good time?”
I jump. My phone almost slips from my fingers.
Brent, a small smile on his flushed face, leans against the wall a couple feet away.
“What?”
“Are you having a good time?” He has the eyepatch shifted upward now. His eyes are deep-set and a reddish brown, the same color as his tousled hair and scruffy beard.
“Uh, yeah.” About as good a time as expected.
“Billie, right?”
“Yeah.”
He assesses me slowly, the smile almost gone. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
Brent shrugs. “You’ve talked to four people since arriving, and I’m the only person you didn’t know. You’re really uncomfortable.”
I pocket my phone.
Maybe he did notice my discomfort from his close proximity—either he assumes that’s how I normally behave, which isn’t far off the mark, or he doesn’t care.
“That guy your boyfriend? The one you danced with?”
“We’re friends. I don’t date.”
Brent laughs, but then his face falls. “Like ever? Are you saving yourself for marriage or something? That’s cool.”
I snort. “Hardly.”
“Then what?”
I take a long drink from my water cup. The question hasn’t been a dominant conversation topic in the months since last semester’s fiasco. I wish it weren’t part of this conversation either. Why does he care anyway? I’m some random girl who came to his party.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He scoots along the wall. “Well, I don’t believe you, but I’ll let you keep your secrets.” I imagine the smile that follows is supposed to be charming. “It makes you more interesting.”
I look away again. What does that have to do with anything? “I’m not that interesting.”
Brent leans closer with a wolfish grin, and I shrink back. “You know, I don’t believe that for a second.”
I push away from the wall and put some space between us. “Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t matter what you believe.” My hands, clutching the cup, are shaking.
But when I glance over my shoulder, all he does is smile.
I’m overreacting. He’s perfectly nice, and I’m overreacting. There’s no need to panic just because he’s near me. Drunk people have no concept of personal space. Why else would Xander get clingy after a couple shots of whiskey?
“Why didn’t you tell me you live with Lia?”
I breathe a sigh of relief at the subject change. “I didn’t know who you were. And why would I introduce myself as being her housemate?”
His thunderous laughter echoes between the buildings. “That’s a fair point. I can’t believe I’ve never met you. It’s almost November, and as you can see, I’m pretty close to her and her brother.”
“Brother?”
“You’re at a Finnick party and you haven’t met one half of the duo?” He joins me on the grass, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his harem pants. “Darius. I pointed him out while we were at the bar. We got him to his bed, thanks for asking.”
I nod.
“You know, Lia said we should adopt you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “‘Adopt’?” I’m not a stray puppy.
“She thinks you’re cute and you could use some friends. Maybe a little feminine guidance. She’s selfless, isn’t she? You guys must get on well, living together and all.”
I push down the anxious laughter in my throat. “Yeah, she’s great.”
But as kind as she is, we barely know each other.
“How old are you?”
I take a moment to assess him, but he’s too drunk to be bothered by my scrutinous stare. “Nineteen. Why?”
“We’re all turning twenty-one this year, but most of the bars don’t let in minors after ten.” He laughs at my skeptical face. “Thinking ahead.”
I finish my water and glance toward the door. Now sounds like the perfect time to make my exit, but Brent is oddly observant for a drunk person.
“You want another drink? Let’s go make you something.” He leads the way toward the door, not waiting for me, and I hesitate before following him inside.
Brent doesn’t give me the opportunity to refuse before taking my cup and returning to the bar, and I hesitate in the doorway.
Jimmy and David are still talking on the other side of the room. David’s six pack is down to two, and Jimmy’s bright pink. He’s such a lightweight.
On the dance floor, Dahlia and Kai are falling over with laughter. They struggle to keep control while performing “The Time Warp” instructions. I’d rather be curled up on Xander and Jimmy’s couch watching the movie.
But where is Xander? He said he was going to chat with Jimmy and David while I took a breather. He’s not standing with them.
“Here you go.”
Brent is back, and he’s filled my cup to the brim with a pink liquid that emits a sickly-sweet aroma. I shouldn’t have anything else to drink.
“It’s Kinky lemonade.”
I bite my lip. “‘Kinky’?”
“Grapefruit liqueur.” He offers the cup again. “And some Sprite and vodka. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who drinks often. Citrus covers vodka well.”
“I’m really not.”
But he pushes it into my hand, his arm quaking from the motion, and I clasp my fingers around the cup so it doesn’t fall.
I glare at the quivering liquid, somehow in my hand despite my desire for it to be anywhere else, and look away. I need an excuse to leave. Maybe Jimmy will see me and wave me over. I haven’t talked to him since we parted ways, but he’s still immersed in his conversation with David. The six pack is empty now. They’re probably talking about bands and music, and Jimmy will be arguing about who does a better version of “Blackbird,” even though David doesn’t listen to the Beatles.
Maybe I could go to the bathroom, though.
But when my eyes drift toward the nearest darkened hallway, there’s Xander. Halfway down the hall, he’s leaning against the wall, lips pursed as a girl in a skin-tight white dress, white pumps, angel wings, and a halo stands close to him. She places her hand on his forearm and leans her head back as she laughs.
Who the hell is that? And why is Xander talking to some random drunk, half-naked woman?
I sip the drink and force down the nausea welling up in my chest. The cocktail is sweet and tangy, and the carbonation and vodka leave a bitter aftertaste, but I take another sip and a breath to cool down.
There’s no reason to be upset anyway. Xander’s single and has never kept it in his pants before. Halloween should be his time to shine. All the girls are drunk and wearing as little clothing as possible. Isn’t that a male undergrad’s dream?
Although, I’m pretty sure all the women he’s slept with have been sober and willing for their rendezvous. I definitely was.
In the hallway, the girl runs her hand up his arm and steps closer—and his response?
He smiles.
I turn to Brent and take a gulp of the pink lemonade. He grins when I down half the drink. The vodka is more apparent with each swallow.
“Nice!” Brent claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll make a college student of you yet.”
I frown. I’ve been a college student for over a year, and there hasn’t previously been a prerequisite for alcohol use. But before I say anything, my phone starts to vibrate.
I can’t hear the ringtone over the music, but when I withdraw the device, the caller ID shows the house phone. The only person who uses that anymore is Mom. Imogene stopped the second she got a cell phone in eighth grade.
Brent stares expectantly, and I offer him a quick apology before heading out the door into the quiet night.
“Mom?”
The line crackles to life as I pace the sidewalk outside the apartment. The lemonade sloshes in my cup. If I hadn’t drank so much while inside, it would’ve sloshed right out of the cup.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, good. You’re awake. I was worried you’d be in bed.”
I stop pacing. “What are you doing up, Mom? It’s almost one. You were supposed to go to bed three hours ago.”
She releases an anxious laugh, and the earpiece crackles. “I’m finalizing the guest list so I can mail out these save-the-dates, and I wanted to remind you I’m giving you a plus one.”
I heave a sigh. It’s one in the morning, and she wants to make sure I know I’m supposed to bring a date. How in the world is that her top priority?
“Mom, I know that. But you need to go to bed. Where’s Rob? Isn’t he there with you?”
“No.” Her voice is tired. “He’s in California visiting his nephew. Giovanni and Carmen had their new baby.”
“What about Imogene? Where’s she?” I drain the cup and set it on the concrete under the eaves.
“She’s staying the night at Heather’s. I’m trying to talk to you about something important, Billie.”
I can’t believe Mo left her alone at the house. Mom must be managing her mental health well for Mo to be comfortable doing that.
“Imogene says she’s going to bring a date, and it would be nice for you to put yourself out there. So, you’re bringing a date.”
The words are final—not a question anymore—and I sigh. “Sure, why not.”
“Good.” Her long sigh is the opposite of my short one—relieved instead of irritated, happy instead of angry. “What about Alexander?”
“Who?”
It takes a second to realize who she’s talking about.
“Your friend. Jimmy’s roommate.”
“Xander,” I correct, imploring her to remember this time. When he introduced himself to her by his full name last Christmas, it stuck. “His name is Xander. And what about him?”
Behind me, the apartment door opens and closes with a loud thump. I shift to look over my shoulder.
Speak of the devil.
“Well,” Mom says over the line, “he’s sweet and your friend, so I’m sure he’d be happy to do it as a favor.”
Xander smiles as he approaches. “Hey…” But he zips his mouth shut when he notices the phone.
I turn away again to focus on my mother. “Do what as a favor?”
“Be your date.”
“What?”
My alarm doesn’t faze her. “I don’t know how else you’re going to come up with one, Billie. You’re both single, right? I don’t see what the problem is. He’s a good friend, isn’t he?”
“Right.” Why else would he agree to do it? “Mom, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Then come up with something better. I expect you to have a date.”
Xander steps around me and mouths, “You okay?”
I shake my head and turn away again. “Mom, the wedding is six months away. Why are you awake right now, worrying about this? You should be in bed.”
She doesn’t bother acknowledging that. “Have you gotten your bridesmaid dress? You need to get measured for that. Everything needs to be ready.”
“Did you not just hear me? Six months.”
Fingers press to my upper arm, and I send a glare over my shoulder. Where’s the handsy girl in the angel costume now? Did he get bored with her?
“Six months is not as long as you think it is, Billie,” Mom says over the phone, and I shrug Xander off.
“I understand how time works and how to read a calendar. Six months is six months, and you should’ve agreed to a courthouse wedding like Rob suggested.” I heave a sigh. “Planning a wedding is too stressful.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Her voice is curt. “Speaking of stress, what do you think of Dr. Byrd? He seemed qualified when we spoke over the phone.”
My entire body stiffens. If she’s pissed off, I might as well be honest.
“I haven’t seen him.”
The line is silent.
Finally, I turn back to see Xander watching me, brow crinkled, lips in a tight line. He steps closer at the recognition and cocks his head to the side.
I cover the mouthpiece. “Wedding shit. Apparently, she’s too stressed to go to bed. What are you doing out here?”
He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “You were gone for a while. I got worried.”
My jaw clenches, and on the other side of the line, the phone sputters with movement. “You didn’t look worried with a pretty angel wrapping her arms around you in a dark, secluded hallway,” I snap, and then, Mom’s back on the phone.
“What do you mean, you haven’t seen him?”
I stumble away from him so he can’t hear.
“Billie, those appointments cost money, and you’re scheduled for every Thursday until the end of the school year. Tell me you’ve had the decency to call and cancel them.”
Xander’s staring, a hardened look on his face, and I avert my eyes before answering.
“No, Mom, I didn’t call them. They’ll figure it out.”
“I have to pay a fee when you skip the appointment, Billie.” She chooses her words carefully. “This is completely disrespectful to me and to Dr. Byrd, and you will go to your next appointment.”
“No, I won’t.” Xander’s still watching me, and I cover the mouthpiece again, pulling the phone away. “Why are you still here?”
He reaches for me but doesn’t make contact. “Dixon, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”
“I’m a little busy with my mom.” I level him with a glare. “Go back inside to your angel. I’m sure she’d love to see your apartment—at least the ceiling. Unless you’ve already gotten her in bed, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” I don’t give him a chance to respond before stalking off in the direction of my apartment.
When I press the phone to my ear again, Mom is talking. “Do you need a female psychologist? No one else was as highly recommended in St. Clare as Dr. Byrd, but if you want a woman, that’s a simple fix.”
“Mom, it doesn’t matter who you make an appointment with, I’m not going.”
Behind me, Xander doesn’t follow, but he has no qualms yelling after me: “What the hell are you so upset about, Dixon? Last I checked, you weren’t invested in who I sleep with.”
On the phone, Mom is talking, but I can’t focus on her words. I stumble on the uneven sidewalk.
“Thank God I can tell when you’re lying your ass off!”
I round the corner and follow the sidewalk along the Lane toward King Street. My heart is racing, and Mom is still talking.
“…and quite frankly, I don’t know why you’re sabotaging everything like this, Billie. This is an important opportunity, and your sister is worried about you. Do you eat? She says you don’t eat.”
I focus on my boot-covered feet slapping against the pavement and the sound of her voice. “If Mo’s worried, that’s her problem and not my fault. Besides, she’s not here, so neither of you have any idea what’s going on in my life.”
Unless…
Jimmy and Imogene talk a couple times a week. She’s been able to needle her way under his skin since we were kids, and Jimmy cannot deny her once she’s made up her mind. She is as ambitious and stubborn as I am.
“I won’t go to therapy, Mom, and you can’t make me.”
My hands are numb from the cold. Or from the alcohol. I have no idea how much vodka Brent put in that last drink. I start to pull away the phone—I’m done with this conversation—but the steadiness of her voice makes me pause.
“Yes, you are.”
“No—”
“You will attend your therapy with Dr. Byrd, or you will not come home.”
“What?”
That’s hardly a terrible sentence. I moved to Vermont to get away in the first place.
“You will not be part of my wedding or my new family, you will not step foot in my house, and you will not see or speak to your sister until you fix this.”
I come to an abrupt stop at the corner of the Lane and King Street.
“Fix this.” She says it with the utmost certainty that this is—that I am—something that can and will be fixed.
