Page 2

TWO

COLBY

This isn’t going to end well. If it wasn’t so last minute, I never would’ve called her, at least that’s what I tell myself.

Having a stepsister who happens to be a makeup artist and a social media nut should be a blessing in my case, but I can give you a million reasons why it’s not, and a million reasons why I should’ve let anyone else take the job.

Starting with the fact that if our parents weren’t married, she would be mine.

Not mine, as in my sister by marriage, mine as in mine .

I’m twenty-six years old, and to this day, not a single girl has made me feel half the shit that my stepsister has.

Granted, she has an advantage against all the others in knowing more about me than anyone else.

Sometimes, I think even more than Jackson. But Hale is different.

In another life, maybe I would’ve given Jackson my blessing, and at least they could’ve been happy, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to watch the dude I grew up with make the girl of my dreams happier than I was given the chance to.

Yes, telling myself this does help me sleep better at night.

The truth is, I’d probably share her with him in a heartbeat.

There’s no part of me that doesn’t believe that’s how it should be—the three of us.

But any possibility of that happening went down the drain after signing a six-figure record deal, and doubling it in the first year.

I couldn’t afford to be caught looking at my stepsister the way I know I do.

I had to push her away the same way she did us, to diminish the idea of the three of us in any capacity.

There was no way of knowing that Jackson and I would ever make it out of my dad’s garage. Fuck, all I wanted was to take my two best friends up with me when we finally did. But pushing Hale away forced her to make a choice.

When I put the ink to the page, signing the record deal of a lifetime at only twenty years old, Hale got an apartment not long after.

She still came around for a while, but we’ve barely seen her for the last three years.

I’ve only been graced with her presence at a handful of family dinners that my dad requested I attend, and Jackson too, of course.

He became like the second son my dad never wanted, but loved anyway.

I won’t lie, it fucks with my head, knowing she’s never even been to one of our shows.

She was supposed to be here with us the whole damn time.

She earned it. She never complained when we played way too loud, and she sat with us day in and day out while Jackson taught himself the right chords.

When I sang off-key, she was still there on the old garage couch, happy as ever.

Music may have never been her thing, but she loved it because we loved it.

Pushing her away ruined everything for the three of us.

Not just the three of us, actually, but with Jackson and I, too.

We stopped sharing things in life like we used to and stopped spending as much time together.

Shows have started to feel like a task rather than our passion.

It’s as if when we realized we wouldn’t be sharing her, everything else fell to the wayside.

No matter how hard we’ve tried to uphold our once strong connection, Hale had become the glue that was holding us together.

Our usual makeup artist calling out sick right before a huge stop on our tour was like the perfect excuse to bring her back into our lives. When it fell right into my lap, I didn’t waste a second to dial her up.

This is our chance. Our chance to be the three musketeers again.

Our chance to be who we once were and have Hale back in our lives in a way that involves her passion, too.

Even if I can’t have her the way I want, maybe I can finally give my blessing to Jackson or some shit.

Fuck, maybe I’m okay with having some of her, even if it means she belongs to my best friend, and not me.

And that’s the point, I guess. I refuse to waste another second not being together. Hale belongs to Neon Cherry, and I refuse to pretend otherwise for a moment longer.

It’s this thought that I’m lost in when Jackson speaks up. After waiting an hour by the pool for our perpetually late girl, she’s finally here.

“Hi, angel,” Jackson says as he makes his way to her.

She doesn’t waste a second jumping into his ink-soaked arms, being spun in circles effortlessly.

Our girl, who now has more curves than ever on her gorgeous body, wraps herself around him like a damn koala, her shoulder-length brown hair and matching brown eyes catching every ray of the sunset light.

She looks so delicate in comparison to us now. The skin that’s visible is still unmarked with her own tattoos, though her beautiful sun-kissed complexion still shimmers with the glittery body oil she has always used.

“Hi, Jaxie,” she says through smiling clenched teeth, holding on to him like she’ll fall into space if she doesn’t.

When he releases Hale, I make my way to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, setting my chin atop her head and inhaling her once familiar sickeningly sweet vanilla and citrus scent.

The sugary orange smell could only suit her.

“Hey, brat.”

She returns the hug, and I can hear the way she takes in my smell too. Holding her shouldn’t feel so right, and having her head nuzzled beneath my chin shouldn’t feel like home, but it does . Her voice is small, like she’s holding back so many things she wants to say. I know the feeling.

“Hey.”

As she pulls free from my grasp, not a second is wasted before Jackson begins running his loud ass mouth.

“What the hell are we waiting for? You kept us waiting long enough; we’re gonna be late!” He waves his arm in a circle, commanding us to head back through the house and onto the bus.

“Will one of you get my bags out of my car? I need to use the restroom before we leave.”

“Yeah–”

“Of course–”

Jackson and I speak in unison, and we both watch her walk through the sliding glass door. Something is unspoken when we look at each other, and unspoken it will remain.

For now.

There’s a glimpse of competition in Jackson’s eyes, and while that’s not what I had in mind, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone.

Fuck. Why am I standing here contemplating competing with my best friend over my fucking stepsister’s honor?

No. No. Fuck no.

I didn’t call her here for that. I called her here because I fucking missed her. I missed our friendship, and I won’t let my twisted and fucked-up feelings get in the way of that.

The tour bus is quiet, but we only have an hour or so more to drive before we pick up Sydnee.

That’s the real test of this entire equation.

What if Hale and Sydnee don’t get along?

There’s the drama of Jackson and Sydnee fucking people together.

Will that affect the way Hale views him?

A smug smirk crosses my face, and Hale takes notice.

“What are you smiling about?” Well, I obviously can’t tell her the actual reason, so I give her a shitty lie.

“Just a stupid meme.” Which is worse? Rooting for Jackson’s downfall, or lying to her? The hell if I know.

Smelling her perfume again takes me back.

The same perfume she’s worn for years, and knowing that she hasn’t changed it, does something to me.

Maybe because it felt like when we stopped seeing her, it was a rebirth for her.

It felt like she moved on entirely. Changed her hair, changed her mindset. But the perfume, the scent of her…

It brings me comfort, like maybe all isn’t lost after all.

“You still wear the same perfume.”

Hale looks confused by my observation. “You noticed?”

I wipe my hand down my face absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I guess.”

She hums to herself across the table and begins dealing the playing cards.

“I hope neither of you cheating fucks looked at my cards,” Jackson says as he takes his seat next to Hale. Bold move. She scoots herself toward the window, but Jackson just scoots closer.

My foot kicks out, and instead of my target, I nail Hale directly in the fucking shin. Hard.

“Ow!” She jumps in her seat, eyebrows pinching.

I wince right along with her. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. My leg twitched.”

She scowls at me but doesn’t spare me any more attention.

“No one looked at your cards, dork. I just finished dealing with them when you came back out,” Hale assures him.

“Pinky promise?” Jackson says, holding his pinky finger out to her. She rolls her eyes, but extends hers back to him, and when they lock their fingers together, I nearly groan. God, he’s touching her in the simplest way, but I fucking want it. How the fuck can I possibly tell her that?

The answer is that I don’t. And I need to get that through my head.

There’s a real chance that this week could allow my best friend and my stepsister to reconnect and give each other happiness.

He could give her things in a way that I can’t.

He can hold her hand in public, and take her on dates with the whole world watching, and that’s exactly what she deserves.

She deserves to be shown off and cherished.

Maybe Hale doesn’t belong to Neon Cherry. Maybe Neon Cherry, or part of us, belongs to her.