All or Nothing(7)

“Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I put the air mattress in your room. Your sisters have friends over for the weekend, and they’ve taken up residence in the guest bedroom.”

“You’re going to make Bree sleep on an air mattress?” I really wanted to ask if she was out of her freaking mind. What kind of mother put a girl like Bree in her son’s bedroom? Did she want me to screw up everything? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out all of the all-too-vivid scenarios playing out in my head. Oh, the possibilities.

“No, Kennedy,” Mom corrected, “you take the air mattress. She can sleep in your bed.”

“Mom, I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

“Nonsense. We all know you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.”





The walk from Juke’s to my childhood home was short, but the wind was wicked. By the time I entered the house through the garage, punching in the code to disable the alarm, the cold had sunk deep into my bones.

“Hello?” I called. I already knew my dad wasn’t here, but I wasn’t sure if the maid would be around.

When my plane landed in Cleveland, I’d turned on my phone to find a text from him: Sorry, kid. I had to take care of some last-minute business in Hong Kong. I hired a limo to meet you and bring you to Abbott Springs.

A limo. I hadn’t seen my father in a year—he’d barely made it home at last Winterfest before I had to leave again—and all I got when I came home was a fucking limo. That was my relationship with him. He gave me everything money could buy, and all I really wanted was a hug. So, you know, your basic clichéd poor little rich girl.

I made my way through the servants’ kitchen to the back staircase and up to my old room. I knew what I’d find there. Furniture gleaming from a fresh polish, the bed, newly made with a fluffy down comforter, maybe even some fresh flowers on the dresser. And all the loneliness an only child could ask for.

I hit the landing and my footsteps echoed through the empty space.

God, I hated this house. I knew my father did too. There were too many reminders here. Everything was exactly as Mom had left it. I wished he would sell it, but part of him still believed she might come back.

“Must run in the family,” I muttered, pushing through my bedroom door.

I was exhausted from traveling all day and second-thinking my decision to come at all. The unexpected time with Kennedy had left me feeling blindsided. The memory of his hands on me during our dance had left me feeling something else altogether. I just wanted to warm up and wash the travel-yuck off myself before getting a solid night’s sleep.

The bathroom attached to my bedroom was stocked with Aveda products for my arrival. Dad probably thought I used this stuff year round in New York, but I couldn’t afford it. He would have written a check if he’d known that, but I’d spent the last six months living under the delusion that I could make it on my own. It was bad enough that he’d financed every move without qualm, never making a peep about me settling down. Would that change when I told him about Paris? Maybe. Or maybe he’d be happy that I got her back in my life.

I turned the water as hot as I could stand it and stripped while it warmed. When I stepped under the spray and closed my eyes, I let the water pressure hammer at my loneliness. I should’ve been used to coming home to an empty house. I should’ve been used to the push-pull tug of hope and disappointment being home inspired.

We’d had a dog when I was a kid. His name was Paws because I’d gotten him when I was eight and apparently had no imagination when it came to naming pets.

Paws would jump the fence and go down to Abbott’s Sweet Confections and raid their dumpster for day-old chocolate cookies and muffins and Danishes. He would get miserably sick every time, and he’d lie on the patio afterward and look up at me with those big brown eyes, just begging me to make it better. But despite his misery and our attempts to prevent his escapes, he did it again and again. As if he couldn’t resist the siren call of day-old chocolate baked goods.

This trip home reminded me of Paws’s dumpster raids. An irresistible, joyful treat that would only end in misery and self-loathing.

I had gone so far as to tell Kennedy I wasn’t coming home for the festival this year, but much like Paws, I was weak. When Everly called and told me she was going to perform here, I’d known it was the perfect excuse. I’d wanted to see my friends and remember the good old days. I’d wanted to see Kennedy and forget October.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to let me.

I scrubbed my scalp and exfoliated my limbs to within an inch of my life, and by the time I turned off the water, my skin was humming.