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One Year Earlier

I’d never admit it, but book club is my favorite time of the week.

Every Wednesday, our little group brings whatever food we’re feeling to Hannah's apartment, the one she shares with Abby, the Terrifying Little Pixie, and listen as they read whatever book we’re reading.

I told my brother, Greyson, I was out after book one, but then Hannah gave me the puppy dog eyes, and one year and twelve books later. .. I’m still here.

“But he’s throwing pizza... Do you know how hot that is?

!” Abby shouts as her hands fly through the air.

“His forearms have to be stacked. I mean, can you imagine sinking your nails into those suckers?” She sighs as she throws herself back on the couch, “Ronan Caruso and his magical arms, for life!” This month’s book is Daring Destiny by Cassandra Moll, and apparently, pizza-making skills and forearms are Abby’s kryptonite.

“Are you that easy to please, little Pixie?” I ask as I run my finger along the silver chain that hangs around my neck. Her eyes cut to mine, jaw clenching and unclenching before it turns into a devious smile.

“You wouldn’t know how to please me if your life depended on it, Baby Wilder.” She runs her tongue across her top lip, clearly pleased with her response. “Don’t wreck your pretty little head trying to figure it out. You need the few brain cells you have left to kick a tiny ball into a huge net.”

My eyebrows raise slightly, a small tug pulling at the corner of my lips before I say.

“Ah, but you do think I’m pretty.” Her face f lushes as snickers come from every corner of the room.

This is normal for us—the back and forth, the jabs, the backhanded compliments.

I look forward to it every week. There are very few people who push my buttons like she does.

But even fewer people are brave enough to go toe to toe with me the way Abby does.

I cross my arms over my chest as I lean back against their kitchen island, my left eyebrow pulling toward my hairline in challenge.

But before she can meet it, the conversation picks back up.

“I think it’s beautiful how he’s so patient with Chloe.

” Hannah sighs dreamily as she runs her hand up and down my brother’s thigh.

“He held space for her to work through everything, while still giving her the support she needed. It’s beautiful.

I can’t wait to see how this turns out!” Her shoulders shimmy as Abby wiggles her eyebrows, seemingly forgetting about our little spat.

I watch as they jump back into the story, stopping every so often to sigh wistfully.

When we get to the end of the last chapter of the night, Monroe dramatically throws himself backward, much like Abby did earlier.

“I can’t believe they got to go to a Christmas market!

” We don’t have those here, so I can’t really picture it, but apparently, Monroe went to one in Orlando when his dad was alive, and he hasn’t been able to make himself go to one since he died.

“I’ll go with you, Monroe!” Abby says as she wipes down the countertop for the third time tonight. Her OCD makes my head spin. Every time someone puts something down, she’s up and cleaning it. It’s like she can’t stand for anything to be out of place. A drop of water might send her over the edge .

Hannah walks her and Greyson’s paper plates to the garbage before putting the utensils in the sink. “Me too! We can make it a girls' trip!” Hannah says as her hands clap rapidly in front of her.

Monroe’s gasp is loud. “I’m one of the girls?! What an honor!” Geez, this guy. He’s the class clown, but my God, he’s an acquired taste. He’s way too much for me on a normal day.

They continue making plans when Abby brings up making a list. What would she do if she lost the ability to plan everything out so meticulously?

There are three hanging on the fridge door at the moment.

One is for groceries, with the proper macros for all her meals listed on the side, which, as an athlete who eats himself out of house and home, I can appreciate.

One is for her and Hannah's plans, and the final one is for her appointments with the guys in this room.

Abby continues to wipe down the kitchen as she listens to Hannah tell her about the event she’s currently planning.

When she gets to where I’m sitting, she stops, looks me dead in the eyes, and says, “Lift your arms, I need to wipe the jerk off my counter.” She cups her hand, bringing it to the side of her mouth, as she leans into me a bit, whisper-shouting, “I hear it’s contagious. ”

I can’t help the smirk that pulls up at the corner of my lips before throwing, “Is control freak Barbie contagious, too?” right back at her.

She slams the wet towel on the counter before hooking her finger through my necklace and pulling me toward her. “I literally cannot stand you,” she hisses.

I fight tooth and nail to keep the smile off my face while I hold her glare and say, “Ditto.”

I don’t move, daring her to make me, I should have known better because, well.

.. It's Abby. Lifting my arms like they’re a smelly sock that's been in the hot sun for months, she makes quick work of wiping where my arms had been. “Hannah, when you and homeboy over there get married, can we ditch the dead weight? He’s killing my vibe,” she says as she lets my arms drop so fast my funny bone smacks the edge of the counter—f reaking brat.

My brother has this goofy look on his face, one he’s been getting every time we argue.

I can’t quite figure it out, but I’m not a fan.

Hannah’s soft sigh floats through the air.

“I wish you two would just get along.” Abby snorts out the most unattractive laugh, and her best friend’s eyes cut to hers as she slaps a hand over her mouth.

“Hate to break it to you, sister. But that’ll never happen.” She pats Hannah on the back before turning to face me. “He made his bed when he hurt your feelings and never apologized for it.”

That has me jerking upright. “Wait a minute, I apologized to Hannah for that. We moved past it like six months ago!” I grind out.

She waves her hand through the air before it lands on her hip. “I never got an apology. Your jerkish-ness caused me mental distress when my bestie ran off.” Her eyes trail from my feet to the top of my head and back. “Therefore, you’re not forgiven—and a certified killer of vibes.”

Lord above. Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?