Page 3

3

Holland

“ A re we still grabbing lunch at the Union?” Willow asks as we cut across campus for our ten o’clock classes. The sun is out in full force, and the warmth feels good on my face.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” I say.

“Pretty sure?” Her eyebrow lifts.

I huff out a breath. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Vivienne. If she doesn’t text back within the next hour, I’ll need to pop home and make sure she’s still alive.”

I wish I were kidding.

“Oh. Everything good on that front?” The concern in Willow’s voice makes my chest tight. She’s seen enough of my mom’s greatest hits to know what “checking on her” usually means.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

“Well, let me know. You don’t mind if Ava joins us, do you?”

“Not at all. She’s cool. I like her.”

Willow’s eyes widen with mock astonishment. “Wow. Look at you branching out and broadening your social horizons. I’m so proud of you.”

A smile teases my lips. “If I’m not careful, I might just get sucked into your little girl gang.”

“The horror.” She gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth. “What would your high school emo self say?”

I bump her shoulder. “She’d probably write a very angsty poem about it.”

My stomach does an odd little flip as Varner Hall comes into view. After two years of avoidance, it feels like everything with Bridger Sanderson is coming to a head.

“All right, I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” With a wave, Willow takes off toward the tutoring lab for a shift. She gets a dozen or so yards away when Maverick throws his arm around her shoulders before tugging her close.

For just a second, I pause and watch them.

A smile blooms across Willow’s face as her boyfriend brushes his lips over hers.

As reluctant as I was to like him, I can’t help but admit that he’s been good for her. He’s aware of her childhood leukemia diagnosis and doesn’t treat her like she’s made of glass that will crack under the slightest bit of pressure. Even her family has backed off.

Well, sort of.

Becks, her mother, would never willingly take a step in retreat.

“Coveting your bestie’s boyfriend, huh?” The dark voice hits me like a physical touch. “That’s low. Even for you.”

I jump, spinning to find Bridger close enough that I can count the silver flecks in his gray eyes. His cologne wraps around me, woodsy and familiar enough to make my heart stutter. I force myself not to take a giant step in retreat, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Hardly.” I meet his gaze, ignoring how my skin prickles with awareness.

His lips curve into an infuriating smirk. “You sure about that?”

Instead of responding, I roll my eyes and stride away, hoping to put a little bit of distance between us.

No such luck. He falls into step beside me, his long legs easily matching my pace. “FYI, I’m onto you, Tate.”

“Oh?” I keep my eyes forward, focusing on Varner Hall. “What exactly are you onto? Wait, let me guess. You dug out your old Scooby-Doo Mystery Kit and you’re hot on the trail of Mr. Carswell, the bank president?”

“Haha. You’re hilarious.”

I flash him my sweetest smile. “Thanks. I try.”

He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I know what you’ve been up to, and when I get the proof, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Promises, promises.” I suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with fear. “Good luck with that.”

“Just know I’m watching you,” he says as we climb the steps to Varner.

“Careful, Sanderson. Someone might think you care.”

A group of hockey fans descends on him, giving me the chance to escape. I slip into class, claiming my usual spot by the window. Bridger strolls in a few minutes later. He ignores the girl trying to wave him down as his gaze locks on me like a heat-seeking missile.

“Did you seriously think you were going to get away from me that easily?” He looms over my desk.

“That was the hope.”

He turns to the guy next to me. “Mind if I sit here?”

The traitor practically trips over himself to give up his seat. Bridger slides in, his thigh brushing mine as he settles. “I’m going to be all up in your business until I can prove you’re behind the messages.”

“Wow.” I shake my head. “You really are delusional. How sad. You might want to seek treatment before you descend into total madness.” I blink and force my eyes wide. “Or is it too late for that?”

“Unfortunately not.” He shifts closer, his scent making my head spin. “I think you’ve been holding a grudge for two long years.”

With a snort, I swivel to face him. “For what? One lousy lay?” I arch a brow as color floods his cheeks. “Do you really think sex with you ruined me for all others? I’m all like— boo hoo , I don’t get to have Sanderson’s dick on the regular.” I roll my eyes. “Give me a freaking break.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. “Funny, I didn’t hear any complaints from you in the moment.”

“Well, a tutorial of the female anatomy just seemed rude at the time.”

“Then you gave one hell of a performance.” His voice drops lower until it’s rough around the edges.

“Consider it an act of mercy.” My tone is casual, but my pulse is pounding in my ears. “I just wanted to speed things up. It was late, and I was tired.”

He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “I think we both know I could prove you wrong.”

“Too bad you won’t be given the opportunity to try.” My gaze flicks to the bruise on his cheek. “Let me guess, bar brawl over an eager bunny?”

Dark emotion flashes in his eyes before it’s quickly masked. “Nailed it.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach curdle, but before I can analyze it, Dr. Abbott launches into his lecture about our final project. Once this semester ends, I’ll never have to deal with Bridger Sanderson again.

Thank fuck.

“You’ll be paired with a classmate,” Abbott announces, his gaze sweeping the room.

My muscles lock. He’s going alphabetically. I frantically search my memory for anyone between Sanderson and Tate but come up empty.

“Bridger Sanderson and?—”

Please don’t say me.

Please don’t ? —

“Holland Tate.”

My pen clatters to the desk. Bridger turns, his gaze burning into my profile.

“I couldn’t have planned this more perfectly myself,” he whispers, satisfaction dripping from his tone.

I force my features into something resembling calm, choking down the urge to scream. We can’t be within three feet of each other without verbal warfare breaking out. How the hell are we supposed to work together?

The second Abbott dismisses class, I’m out of my seat and heading for his desk. I feel the weight of Bridger’s stare burning a hole through my back as he takes his sweet time packing up.

“Miss Tate?” Abbott looks up. “Questions about the project?”

I clear my throat, aiming for reasonable rather than desperate. “Just one. Is there any way I can work alone? I’m willing to do everything my?—”

“I’m afraid not.” His smile is tight. “In the real world, you won’t get to choose your colleagues. Consider it a lesson in learning how to play nice with others.”

The condescension in his tone makes me grit my teeth. “Got it. Thanks for the insight.”

I turn to leave, only to find Bridger leaning against the wall outside the room, waiting like a predator.

He falls into step beside me. “Looks like you and I are stuck together for the next couple weeks, Tate.”

“Apparently.” I don’t bother hiding my irritation.

His lips twitch. “Told you I was going to stick to you like glue.”

I stop short, spinning to face him. “Let me be crystal clear, Sanderson. I don’t like you. And I sure as hell don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

He tilts his head, eyes darkening. “That wasn’t always the case, now was it?”

My spine stiffens. Even at five-ten, I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “That was a long time ago.”

“And yet…” His voice drops lower, turning silky, when he finishes with, “Sometimes it feels just like yesterday.”

“No, what it feels like is ancient history.” I step closer, jabbing my finger into his chest. “Not to mention completely forgettable.”

“So you keep saying.” His hand catches mine before I can pull back, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The touch sends electricity shooting up my arm. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

I yank my hand free, ignoring how my skin tingles where he touched me. “You have absolutely nothing I want.” I turn away, desperate to escape before he realizes just how much he’s able to affect me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better places to be.”

His low chuckle follows me out into the sunshine. I pull out my phone, trying to focus on my mother’s radio silence rather than the lingering warmth of his touch.

I give her number two more tries before accepting that I’ll have to make the trip home. The forty-five-minute drive gives me way too much time to think.

About what Bridger’s hand felt like on mine.

About my mother’s latest crisis waiting to happen.

About how my life seems to be one endless cycle of damage control.

Our tiny bungalow comes into view, looking exactly like it has since I was a kid— slightly neglected but still standing. A black plastic ashtray sits on the railing, cigarette butts spilling over the edges despite my constant lectures about lung cancer.

While I’ve never doubted her love for me, the woman will never win mother of the year. She’s more of a dreamer. An eternal optimist who floats through life in a bubble of her own making. Her superpower is her ability to find lowlifes and try to turn them into her next great love interest.

What Vivienne has yet to realize is that she won’t find Prince Charming at the bottom of her beer glass at a local corner dive bar.

And it wouldn’t be the first time she’s taken off for a couple days without so much as a word.

So, Vivienne being MIA isn’t necessarily something to be overly concerned about. But I still feel compelled to stop home at least once a week to make sure she’s alive and paying the bills on time. Even when I was a kid, it felt more like I was the parent and she was the child.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that she was only sixteen when she got knocked up. When she couldn’t tell her parents who the father was, they kicked her pregnant ass out of the house.

And it’s been the two of us ever since.

Every so often, someone tries to be a third wheel, but it never lasts long before they end up ditching her. Mom is a lot to handle. She’s fun for a week or so, but then it becomes a little much.

I peer through the windows but see no signs of life. My heart clenches with that familiar fear. The one that whispers maybe this time she’s really gone too far.

When I test the front door handle, I find it unlocked.

How did I end up with all the self-preservation skills and my mother got zero?

The living room tells its own story. Beer cans are scattered across end tables, there’s a half-empty bottle of Boone’s Farm—Mom’s signature drink when she’s entertaining—along with a glass smeared with bright-red lipstick.

“Mom?” I call out, my voice echoing through the quiet house. After a beat, I try again, louder.

A shuffling sound comes from her bedroom. The door creaks open to reveal my mother, hair disheveled, wearing an oversized white T-shirt.

“Holland?” She blinks at me. “What are you doing here so early?”

She steps into the hallway, carefully pulling the door closed behind her until it clicks.

“Mom, it’s almost noon.”

She glances toward the window like the sun might be playing tricks on her. “Really?”

“Yeah.” My gaze darts to the closed bedroom door. “Is someone else here?”

Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, honey, I met the most fabulous man.” She hugs herself, practically vibrating with excitement. “I think he might be the one.”

That’s when I notice the gap in her smile where a tooth should be.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Her hand flies to her mouth, expression turning sheepish. “I had a little accident when we came home from the bar the other night.”

“Jesus. Are you all right?”

She waves off my concern. “I’m fine. It was so stupid. I tripped on the walkway and hit the cement face-first.”

“You’ll have to call the dentist?—”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m going to bother. Dale says it adds character.”

I stare at her, wondering how this is my life. “Mom, you can’t walk around like that.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You didn’t even notice at first.”

My gaze catches on a worn leather vest thrown over a dining room chair. Before I can reach for it, Mom’s voice turns sharp.

“Don’t touch that! Dale was really weird about it.”

The stone in my gut turns to lead. “Please tell me he isn’t part of a biker gang.”

Her eyes widen with childlike excitement. “How did you know?”

“Mom...”

She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They call him Jigsaw, but he won’t tell me why.”

When I continue staring, she bounces on her toes, making the oversized shirt ride higher. “Hey! Are you seeing anyone? He’s got some friends who seemed nice. Maybe we could double date!”

“Absolutely not.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so judgy, Holland. You really need to chill out and live a little.”

I press my lips together, swallowing back all the things I want to scream.

About responsibility.

And consequences.

Or how I’ve spent my entire life watching her “live a little” before cleaning up the aftermath.

“Look, I need to take off.” I force my voice to remain steady. “I just wanted to stop by and make sure everything was good. If you’d answer your phone once in a while, I wouldn’t have to go out of my way to check up on you.”

She closes the distance between us, cupping my cheek in her warm palm. “Aww, but I’m glad you did. I enjoy seeing your pretty face. I love you, baby girl.”

And just like that, my anger melts into resignation. Nothing is ever going to change with Vivienne. She is who she is.

“I love you too.”

She smiles, the gap in her teeth making her look vulnerable in a way that breaks my heart.

“I’ll let you know what the dentist says. I’m sure between the two of us, we can figure out a way to pay for it.” I can already see my savings account draining, my carefully built safety net dissolving.

“Okay. And think about the double date. Dale said his friends have a real thing for curvy redheads.”

“I’m way too busy with school to date.” Or get tangled up with a biker.

“Sounds awfully boring.”

“Yup, that’s me. Boring.”

I press a kiss to her cheek before heading for the door, my chest already tight with the need to escape.

To breathe.

“I’ll let you know what the dentist says.”

“No worries.”

I almost snort. That’s Mom’s mantra. No worries . And somehow it always works out for her.

For me? Not so much.

Back in my car, I’m about to turn the key when my phone lights up with a notification from the college chat app.

ColdAsIce17

Thanks for your message the other night. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I don’t know how you knew, but... thanks.

Warmth blooms within me, pushing back against the cold weight of responsibility. Our connection might only exist through words on a screen, but it’s the one thing in my life that feels real.

Important.

This guy understands me like no one else.

And I get him too.

Me

I’m always here for you.

His reply comes instantly.

ColdAsIce17

Same. Just know that this thing between us matters to me.

A lump rises in my throat. My guard slips as I type back.

Me

I feel the same. Our relationship is one of the only things that keeps me sane.

There’s a pause before he responds.

ColdAsIce17

Good to know. We might not have much, but we have each other.

His understanding wraps around me like a blanket, making me feel safe and warm. He might be a stranger, but he sees me in ways no one else does. Between my mother’s chaos, Bridger’s threats, and the weight of everything I’m juggling, these conversations are sometimes the only thing that feels real.

The only place I can truly be myself.

Me

Life, family, relationships—they’ve never come easy. Remember when you asked if I wanted to walk away from it all? Today is definitely one of those days.

I start the car, grateful that at least one thing in my life makes sense, even if they’re just simple messages. As I pull away from the house, I try not to think about the dentist bill waiting in my future, or the project I’ll have to suffer through with Bridger.

One crisis at a time.

That’s all anyone can handle, right?