Page 40 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

One Year Ago, January

Time goes by, we move on We move on, we move on When do we move on?

I took a deep breath and gave the article one last look.

One last chance for edits on the completed application, the pages of supporting research, the article itself.

I chewed my thumbnail to the quick as I roved over everything.

Saving it all in one file, packaged nice and pretty for Julienne and the judging committee, I held my breath and hit Submit.

I think the relief of having the weight of the project off my shoulders sent my body into a tailspin. Completing and submitting the damned thing had somehow switched a flip inside of me. No more than an hour after submitting, a dull, concentrated headache bloomed behind my left eye.

I knew immediately it was not going to stay that way.

Within the hour, despite my efforts to get ahead of it, the headache progressed into a full-blown migraine, sending me back to bed, where I stayed for the majority of the day .

In the early evening, when the worst of it had subsided and I could keep food down, I checked my phone.

Kieran

Do you want me to bring you anything? You should be celebrating, not lying in bed all day

Me

No, thank you. I physically cannot celebrate tonight. I can only just now lift my head without pain. Tomorrow?

Kieran

Let me know if I can do anything

The knots in my stomach twisted the entire night, not just from the migraine but from nerves about my project submission.

Being first in line for promotion considerations in the future would be amazing, yes.

But more than that, a published shoutout in The Mountain could be life-changing for the artists I featured.

I wanted so desperately to do something for them, anything at all that might make a difference because, dammit, they deserved it.

Julienne asked us to dig deep, and I had. I just hoped it was enough.

By the next morning, I felt well enough to check my phone again.

Gemma

Sending you good vibes, babes!! You got this!

Kieran

You should come over later if you’re feeling up to i t

I opened my email and refreshed the inbox no less than fourteen times. Nothing pressing or important. Definitely nothing about my submission other than the confirmation that they’d received it. I opened the group chat I had with Wren and Ha-Joon and typed out my message.

Me

Do we know when we’re going to hear anything back about the Newbie Comp?

Wren

I have no idea, but surely 24 hours was enough time for them to decide, right?? How long do they need?

Wren

I’m a nervous wreck

Ha-Joon

Julienne said they were taking the weekend to deliberate. There are only nine submissions. I assume we should know before Monday?

Wren

I swear if that jerk from Lifestyle gets chosen, I will riot.

Wren

Not really, but still. One of us deserves it.

Ha-Joon

LMAO

I shot back a laughing emoji and crawled out of bed very, very slowly, assessing every sensation.

No pain. A good sign, even though the lingering physical effects a migraine of that magnitude leaves on the human body was still felt.

My muscles were stiff all over, my fingers tingling with a faint residual numbness.

I waddled into the bathroom, scared to move too quickly, and turned the shower to its hottest setting.

The steaming stream worked to relax the aching muscles across my neck, my shoulders, my back.

I stood unmoving under the lava for at least five minutes, breathing deeply, calming my brain as thoughts of the project results seeped in.

It’s fine. You’ll know their decision soon enough. It’s out of your hands. There’s nothing you can do about it now besides wait.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four…

I dressed, blow-dried my recently cut hair, and put on makeup for the first time in at least a week.

Feeling incrementally better, I took Kieran up on his invitation to come over.

I figured, if nothing else, getting out of the apartment would be good for me.

Otherwise, I was just going to sit and worry the rest of the day.

At least at his place, I could worry and have some company.

It was a strange mix, being exhausted from weeks of hard work and mental strain, combined with the exhaustion of feeling unwell, and yet being so wired and anxious about the Newbie Comp results that I wouldn’t have been able to rest even if I wanted to.

The only thing to do was ride the wave until it was over.

“You’re free!” Kieran’s muffled voice said into the scarf around my neck when he pulled me into a hug. We’d gotten a fresh dusting of snow that morning, which cast everything in sparkling white and held a damp coldness that cut right to the bone. “How does it feel to rejoin the outside world?”

I hugged him back, but wasn’t sure how to answer .

I didn’t think giving my all to the Newbie Comp could be categorized as “leaving the outside world.” The way he said it was as if I were trapped in thankless, unfulfilling work.

Sure, it was a grueling couple of weeks towards the end of the process, but it was also a life-changing opportunity.

Not just in my professional career but for my personal growth as a writer.

My defensive response caught in my throat.

“I like your hair like that.” He kissed my temple as he ushered me inside. “You should go shorter next time. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thankfully. Still not quite a hundred percent, but getting there.”

He led me into the large kitchen, where the scent of mouthwatering Italian food in the oven hit me, causing my empty stomach to growl in response.

I half expected Kieran to ask me for an update on my project submission as he helped me shrug out of my coat.

An inquiry on the results? Something? Anything? But he didn’t.

When he turned his back to check on the food, I spoke. “We haven’t heard anything about who won yet.” I turned my email notifications on earlier in the day, but it didn’t stop me from opening the app and refreshing my inbox every ten minutes.

“Well, you should be proud regardless,” he said over his shoulder.

I unwrapped the scarf around my neck and set it on the counter as I took a seat at his sleek counter. He closed the oven again, readjusting the timer before walking to the opposite corner of the room to the bar cart.

“I know. I am . I just don’t think I’m going to be able to relax until we know who got selected.”

He threw me a glance, scoffing. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re a writer. It’s just an article. There will be others, right? ”

I stared for a moment, unsure I was understanding him correctly. “It isn’t just an article; I worked really hard on it.”

“No, I know,” he said, retrieving a glass from the bottom shelf of the bar cart. “I get it, your hobbies mean a lot to you, but—”

“It’s more than a hobby, Kieran; it’s my job.”

“Right, but…” He trailed off, bobbing his head back and forth.

Defensive confusion flooded my senses, and my head throbbed. Is he serious? I know I’m not saving lives, but what I do is hard work. It’s competitive. It’s culturally significant.

“Sorry,” he interrupted my thoughts. “You’re taking it differently than I’m meaning it.” He snagged a small vial of orange bitters from the cart. “I just mean you’ve been working your ass off, and I want to help you relax.”

He came to stand in front of me, pressing against my bent knees, and placed the items on the countertop. Cupping my face, he gently forced me to look him in the eye. “Let me make you a drink,” he said softly, reassuringly. His lips tenderly met mine in a slow, innocent kiss.

He turned his back again, opening the pantry door. “You like Old Fashioneds, right?”

I picked at the skin around my nails. “From the few times I’ve tried them, yes.”

“It’s my cheat day, so I’m going all out on the empty calories.” He closed the pantry door with his foot, a perplexed look on his face. “Where the hell did my bourbon go?”

I laughed. “It’s your house.”

“I know, but I swore—oh wait.” He snapped. “It’s in the garage. Be right back. ”

I took the opportunity alone to pull my phone out again and check my email, refreshing twice before closing the app and putting it on the counter next to Kieran’s.

Just as I did, his phone pinged, the screen lighting up.

A little voice inside of me told me not to look at his screen. It’s an invasion of privacy. Just look away.

In any other scenario, I absolutely would not have looked. But his phone was right there, face up, with the text previews visible. I couldn’t have avoided seeing it if I tried.

Kellie

Hey, handsome! Missing you so bad. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

Something in me glitched over and over until the screen went black. I resisted the urge to tap the screen to wake it up and check to see if I was hallucinating.

It was a good thing I didn’t because right then, the door that led to the garage opened, and Kieran’s muscular frame sauntered back in, a fancy bottle of bourbon in hand.

“I forgot I moved all my liquor to the garage since it’s going to stay nice and cold out there for a while.”

I sat in silence, watching as he made two Old Fashioneds, one for him and one for me. I rolled my lips together, debating whether to say anything. There was no way I could simply pretend I didn’t see it, and I wasn’t in the business of leaving things unsaid anymore.

“You good?” he asked, glancing up at me with a weary smile.

I nodded.

Chicken .

Kieran turned and opened the freezer. “I know you’re nervous about the project thing”—he returned with a tray of large ice cubes—“but you really should—”

“Who’s Kellie?” I interrupted, the words bubbling out of me on their own.

He seemed unfazed by the question. His hand didn’t even flinch as he stirred the drinks. In fact, he looked a little confused, like he had no idea who I was talking about.

“She texted while you were in the garage. I didn’t mean to look, but…” I gestured to his phone, which was still face up in its position on the counter, inches from my own.

“Oh, Kellie ,” recognition painted his expression.

“Did she text?” He slid one of the glasses to me and grabbed his phone like it was nothing.

He read the text and quickly typed out a reply.

“She’s just this girl I’ve seen a couple of times.

” He set the phone face down this time and took a sip of his Old Fashioned, like we were discussing the fucking weather.

I blinked at my glass, then lifted my befuddled gaze to him.

His brows drew together. “What? What’s wrong?”

I said nothing, unsure of what to say without sounding catty, jealous, or like one of those girls in teen drama movies who were about to have a total freak-out.

Realization dawned on his handsome face, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh. Oh . Shit. Olive, I’m sorry, I— I mean,” he scoffed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes as he scratched the back of his head.

“You’re seeing other guys, too, I’m sure.

” A long pause. “Right?” He nodded like he was prompting me to nod, too, like we were totally on the same page, in complete agreement.

I gave my head a slow shake, lowering my gaze to my hands on the countertop. “Nope,” I said, popping the p .

That seemed to confuse him further. “Wait.” He reared back. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. I should—” I rose, grabbing my scarf, my fight or flight definitively telling me to flee. “I’m gonna go.” The shock was catching up to me now, my heart rate increasing, my anxiety along with it.

This is not happening.

Throwing my coat over my arm, my feet carried me to the front door. Kieran abandoned his drink and followed a few steps behind me.

“Olive, you don’t have to go,” he reasoned.

I was wading through molasses, not quite processing anything, focusing only on my breathing and getting outside.

“Yeah, I do,” I said over my shoulder, my restraint waning. I threw the door wide and stepped out to the freezing night.

“Olive, I-I’m sorry…” He paused on the front porch, but didn’t follow me farther.

Stalking to my car, I vaguely registered the sound of his oven timer beeping, adding to my overstimulation.

Breathe. Breathe.

My car was still warm from the drive to Kieran’s when it roared to life.

I sat in the driver’s seat in silence, trying to quiet my mind enough to count to ten.

My thoughts were somehow racing at lightning speed and moving in slow motion simultaneously.

If Kieran was still on the front porch, I didn’t notice.

One, two, three. I’d barely made it to four before my phone dinged.

Not the chime for a text. A chime for an email.

I gasped and lifted my phone, the bright screen stinging my eyes. An email from Julienne. Without thinking, I unlocked my phone with shaking fingers and opened the email .

Good evening, We here at The Mountain would like to express our deepest gratitude to each and every one of the candidates who put forth applications for the Newcomers Competition.

It is with great pleasure that we would like to announce Lee Ha-Joon as the candidate selected for this distinction.

We sincerely hope you all will join in congratulating…

I locked my phone and closed my eyes, not bothering to read the rest of the email.

Dammit.

The tremble of my chin was immediate. I tried to get a grip on the wave of emotions washing over me before it crested. But it wasn’t a wave. The pressure on my chest pushed harder. It was a fucking tsunami.

Again, my instincts told me to flee.

Somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter, just go.

With no plan in mind, I put my car into drive and pulled away.