All or Nothing(12)

When she came back and climbed into my bed, I thought about climbing in after her. What would it be like to be carefree like her? To take a chance when every indicator said you would fail?

“Kennedy? Are you awake?” she whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut and didn’t answer. I wanted her too much, and the news of her move had left me too raw.





Either he was sleeping or he wasn’t speaking to me. Fine. What could I say anyway? Hey, if you would’ve fucked me silly instead of freaking out back in October, maybe I’d stick around?

Not only was that ridiculous, it wasn’t true. If Kennedy had responded like I’d wanted him to, if he would’ve given us a chance, it’d probably all be over by now. Because that was what happened with me. I screwed things up.

The LED light flashed on my phone from the bedside table, letting me know I had a text.

I grabbed it and grinned when I saw it was from Everly. Jubby just told me the funniest thing about Bernie. Did you know she got caught stripping on the courthouse lawn?

Poor Bernie—nothing stayed quiet in Abbott Springs. I tapped out my reply. Heard tonight. I’m back in town. Staying at Kennedy’s, as per usual since Dad is MIA (also as per usual).

Kennedy’s? Well, don’t let him sleep with you. He’ll act like it never happened.

My teeth clenched as I read her reply. No matter how many years and miles between myself and that moment I’d seen him making love to her by the lake, I never managed to escape that horrible feeling in my gut every time I thought about them together.

Kennedy just made it worse with all his talk of her. How he screwed up. How he wished he hadn’t cared so much about his parents’ approval. How he never meant to hurt her.

Everly had slept with Kennedy at Winterfest last year. Sex, by the lake, in January. Yes, alcohol had been involved. When he proceeded to act like nothing had changed between them, she didn’t take it well. To say she carried a grudge would be like saying Winterfest was a little cheesy. Winterfest was complete cheese balls, and Everly thought Kennedy was the anti-Christ for what he did to her. I totally got that Kennedy had hurt her, and I had gone through my own phase where I was angry about it—not that I’d admitted that to either of them. But the more I thought about it—and trust me, I thought about my unrequited crush having sex with my best friend far more than I’d ever admit—the more I realized that his reaction was typical Kennedy.

A pink-haired Abbott, Everly didn’t fit into Kennedy’s dad’s plan for his son, and as such, Kennedy had saved Everly from a world of hurt by skirting a relationship with her. I was jealous of that. Because Kennedy’s parents would probably love nothing more than for him to end up with me. I might have been a little wilder than their son, but I was a Baxter, and old money mattered more than tattoos and the color of your hair in this town. The idea that he could be with me just made the fact that he wouldn’t hurt that much more.

I waited a few minutes before composing my reply, but I settled for something simple. It’s been a whole year, Ev. Either tell him how much he hurt you or let it go.

She didn’t reply, and I lay in the dark, thinking of October and wondering if I needed to take my own advice.

Tell him how much he hurt you or let it go.

Everyone thought I was brave for moving wherever my whims took me, for chasing whatever I fancied at the moment, but they didn’t understand that was all cowardice in disguise. Maybe I was brave enough to show up at Kennedy’s dorm, but I was too chicken to admit to him why I’d been there, to tell him how much his dismissal had hurt. I couldn’t. It would be like opening myself up and handing him salt to pour into the wound.

October. I didn’t want to think about October. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for sleep to anesthetize me to my own heartache.





October

I only stumbled a little as I climbed the stairs to Kennedy’s dorm. Maybe I was loopy from lack of sleep, or maybe it was the peppermint schnapps getting to me, but I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. I was finally going to do this. I was finally going to tell Kennedy how I felt about him.

I knocked on the door to his quad and propped myself up on the frame while I waited for someone to answer. It could have been a minute or an hour later that a scruffy-faced blond opened the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Oh, hey there.” I recognized Kennedy’s broad-shouldered roommate from pictures on Facebook. Tim? Tom? Some all-American three-letter name like that. He was part of Kennedy’s offensive line, but he looked like he had no idea who I was. “I’m Bree?” I giggled when it came out as a question. As if I was so drunk I wasn’t even sure of my own name.