Page 2 of Your Last First Kiss

Ryder runs up beside him and takes the ball away easily.

“Damn. I suck at this.” Ashton groans. “Tell me again why we play?”

“Exercise. We’re getting old,” I tell him.

“Youare getting old. I’m younger than you.” His reply is slightly breathless as he chases down Ryder.

“Back to Dillon,” Ryder says, standing at the three-point line like he has all the time in the world. “You hate it in New York. And running a security firm doesn’t seem like your dream job. What did you want to do when you were a kid?”

When I was a kid? My throat goes dry thinking about it because, in a lot of ways, that’s when life was so much easier. My friendship with the Westbrooks kept me sane in those early years. Now that outlet comes in the form of being a partner at Envision, the security firm Ash is considering stepping away from.

“That was a lifetime ago,” I mutter. “Things change. People change. Life has a habit of making choices for us that we never asked for, and those choices sent us all in different directions for a long time.”

Kids are idiots. I was no different. I became a widower after a month-long marriage that changed the course of every other relationship in my life but felt necessary for those I cared about at the time.

My heart pinches, just to let me know it’s still beating, whenever I think about Vanessa. She was one of my best friends, but I was never in love with her. We knew she was dying, but she couldn’t let her disgusting excuse for a father get her trust fund. So we married. Then I walked away from basketball completely to piss off my alcoholic father.

At some point, I stopped living.

Jesus. Over the last twenty years, I’ve become someone I don’t even recognize. I was wandering through life with no purpose until Ashton dragged me into Envision Securities. Now he wants to pull that out from under me all because he thinks he knows what’s best.

Ryder takes a shot, then turns to me. “But you had dreams,” he pushes—because he’s a freaking nag sometimes.

“We all do,” I say, shaking my head in frustration. “It doesn’t mean that’s what is supposed to happen. I mean, Ashton’s brother Easton was my best friend growing up, and we had this idea. He would make furniture, and I’d run the business side of things, getting them into upscale hotels and homes.”

Ashton opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I throw my arms in the air, and he closes it.

“We were kids,” I say. “And Easton is very talented, but it was just something kids dream about when they think they know how life will play out. It never works that way. There are responsibilities and other people who change your course without meaning to.”

“If you’re talking about Vanessa,” Ashton says, and I know he’s about to defend me because that’s who he is. Easton would, too, if he were here. It irritates me even more.

Sometimes you don’t need to be defended. You just need to be heard.

Damned Westbrooks.

Ashton pulls at the back of his neck. It’s a family habit all his brothers have when they’re upset. “We all cared about her, but you were the only one who could help her, so don’t get that twisted in your head. She needed you, and everyone understands that now. We all made shitty choices as kids. Trust me, I know, but now? What are you choosing now that actually matters? Anything? I’m trying to offer you a chance at something different, something meaningful…”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he cringes.

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“It’s exactly what you meant,” I argue. We’ve known each other our whole lives.

Something meaningful? My brain seizes on that. Once upon a time, all I wanted was something meaningful, to be someone who made a difference, but I lost that boyhood dream right along with my choices when I was a teenager.

“Time out,” Ryder says. “Let’s backtrack a minute, okay?” He stands with the ball tucked carelessly on his hip.

Ryder is one of my guys in the New York office of our security company. He’s also the only one I spend any time with when I’m not working.

He’s not looking at me, which makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Dillon, you do hate it here,” he begins, and I bite my lip so I don’t say something I’ll regret—something likemind your own fucking business. “The only time you’re happy is on Wednesday.”

“Don’t,” I interrupt.

“It’s true,” he says.

“Wednesdays with Penny,” Ashton agrees, and I shake my head.