Finding Delaware (State of Us #1)

by Bree Wiley

With a sigh, I gaze over all the dancing bodies, looking for signs of a dark head of hair. “Taylor doesn’t really like anyone, honestly. Except his close friends.” “He likes you.” Royce’s eyes glitter and my heart kicks up as I frown down at him. “Yeah, no. Pretty sure he hates me.” “Hmm,” he hums as he grabs my arm, pulling me away toward the stage. “I saw the way he looked at you. Pretty sure your stepbrother is in love with you, babe.” He...what? I stammer, completely flabbergasted, because that’s just ridiculous. Taylor has done nothing but make my life hell for years. He’s hurt me, not just emotionally but physically. His fist has connected with my face more times than I can count. I may not know much about love, but I know what it looked like for my parents, and you don’t do those sorts of things to someone you love. Right? Royce grins. “I can see how thrilled you are about that revelation.” No, actually, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Because there’s no way in hell Taylor fucking Tottman could love anything else other than himself and his bike. That’s just who he is. “He’s a narcissistic asshole who uses people,” I mutter, wishing I had another drink. “I seriously doubt he can love anyone.” “We all feel it in our own ways.” He tilts his head, studying me, and I drop my gaze because I’m worried about what he’ll see. The room starts to feel too hot, too crowded, too many bodies pressed together. Suddenly, I feel adrift, like I’ve been capsized in a sea of strangers...

“Do you want him?” He asks quietly, breaking our silence after a while, and I stiffen, knowing who he’s asking about. I want to say hell no, I don’t. In fact, my lips part to say the words. But they don’t come. Because the truth is that I’ve wanted Taylor since the eighth grade. Even after everything. There’s something twisted about the way I yearned for his attention, even if the attention I got was all bruises and closed fists. How I avoided him, knowing he’d seek me out because I wanted the fucking chase. I just got good at lying to myself about it. “I don’t know.” I feel myself shrug. “Maybe. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing can come from it. There’s too much...history. Too much toxicity.” Plus, there’s the little fact that he can’t stand being touched by me. So, how would that work? “I think you two should talk it out.” A dry snort leaves my throat. “Yeah, right. Conversations with us usually end in bloodshed.” Or with his lips against mine as we writhe against each other, followed by a fallout. There’s no middle ground between us, even with my failed attempt at making the backyard track into some sort of neutral ‘Delaware’ like an idiot. Royce’s chest vibrates as he laughs. “What did you expect when you fell for your bully? Who also happens to be your stepbrother.” “I didn’t—” I blow a curl out of my eyes, sighing. “I don’t think I’ve ‘fallen’ for him. It’s more like...infatuated.” He pulls back to look up at me, unconvinced, and I smile crookedly. “Very st...

Taylor drops his arm from the rope he used to pull open the curtain and slowly backs away, a dead look in his eyes as they meet mine. Blood fills my mouth as I bite my tongue, betrayal so raw and hot burning through me that I feel myself cleave in two. And my entire being fucking shatters.

I don’t even remember the drive, don’t even remember unlocking the front door or going to my room—all I know is I’m standing in the bathroom gazing at myself in the mirror. A bottle of pills in my hand. I’ve been through so fucking many over the last six months that I couldn’t even tell you which medication it is, but I’m holding it in a death grip. And I don’t recognize the person in the mirror, the stranger gazing back at me with haunted eyes, tears staining his stricken face. Short, shallow gasps leave his throat, chest heaving as he grips his hair and just fucking screams. This isn’t the Huckslee who stands up and sings every Sunday in church or the football player with a scholarship. Not even Huckslee the swimmer, or Huckslee the artist, or anything other than the real me underneath the mask that’s finally splintered into tiny pieces. This is the Huckslee whose mother left him, whose father will disown him, whose best friend will turn his back on him. Whose stepbrother just broke his fucking heart. And I hate this Huckslee. Hate the sight of this broken mess sobbing so hard that vessels in his eyes are blowing out. Hate the man cursing a God he no longer believes in for making him this way. I can’t change me. I can’t fucking change me. And I’m tired of trying. My fist connects with my reflection, shattering the image staring back at me to match my soul, glass, and crimson raining down over the sink. The distorted, authentic version of Huckslee gazes down at the bottle...

Ithought I fucked up the night I broke Huckslee’s arm, but that was child’s play compared to this. Because I fucked up. Tonight, I did something so despicable and unforgivable that I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. The minute I saw Huck’s face when he realized I’d opened the curtain, I wanted to take it back. To change it. Rewind time to that night in the pool or when I kissed him on the track; rewrite our fucking stars because we can’t come back from this. I know I’ve lost him. With that one look, I felt whatever thread of fate that connected us obliterate, shredding my heart in its wake. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’d been so blinded by rage, by jealousy at his lips on someone else and the fucking scholarship, that I hurt him in the worst way possible. Worse than anything I’ve ever done. I’m racing out into the crowd, hollering at Christian to give me his fucking keys before booking it toward the parking lot. There’s a rising panic in my bones, warning bells blaring at me that something is really wrong, and I need to get to Huck quickly. Pulling out my phone, I intend to call him to apologize, beg him for forgiveness, and plead with him not to hate me when a text from an unknown number catches my attention. Unknown: Hello Taylor, this is Bill Shulz with the Motorsports Park. I’ve been trying to reach you for a week regarding your scholarship. I would appreciate it if you could give me a call as soon as possible, as the details of your scholarship ...

Images come to mind that help calm my nerves: summer rains, bunny rabbit feet, a pair of dark brown eyes, and the smell of chlorine.

My mouth goes dry, as always, when I watch him play. And I’ve watched every game over the last four years.

Fuck, I hate not knowing. It’s been years, yet the knowledge that I know nothing about what’s happening with Huck still hurts. It’s an ache I doubt will ever go away.

Me and jealousy? We don’t mix. I never once felt possessive of any girl I’ve dated over the last four years, but for some reason, it’s all I feel when it comes to Huckslee. And it’s fucking toxic.

“Congrats, Huck,” I whisper, low enough for only myself to hear. And the moment that I spend every second of every game waiting for comes when the camera catches him pulling off his helmet. That mess of blond curls flops onto his brows, plastered with sweat, and he grins triumphantly as his teammates surround him in celebration. He looks...ecstatic. Elated. It’s a look I never got to see with him, and I drink it down like the alcoholic I am, needing my fix. His jawline is sharper, and his skin is a deep bronze shade from spending time in the California sun. Not for the first time, I hope he’s happy—genuinely, authentically happy. I hope life got better when he moved in with his grandparents out there, and I hope he’s been able to find peace. Because he deserves it. After everything, he deserves good things.

Exhaling slowly, I let my head fall back against the headrest and gather my thoughts momentarily. Finally, after a beat of silence, I quietly admit, “I missed the game.” “Ah. You know they record that shit and put it on YouTube, right?” I do know. And the time I’ve spent repeatedly watching his games over the years is embarrassing, but… “It’s not the same.” Because watching it live means that I know where he is and what he’s doing for once. I’m living the moment with him in real-time. And I know that he’s breathing. Salem pauses. “I know. But you caught the end. You saw him, Taylor. He’s fine.” “Yeah.” That’s what it looks like on the outside, right? That he’s okay. Happy. Winning damn near every game and undoubtedly getting all kinds of offers from the NFL. His social media pages all showcase the star athlete-who’s openly gay by the way- surrounded by friends and teammates, surfing in the ocean, and having dinner with his grandparents or boyfriend. My jaw clenches. It’s precisely how it all seemed with him in high school, too. Picture perfect. Until it wasn’t.

I hate it. It kills me. But I can’t seem to let Huckslee Davis go.

In all honesty, Greg was a sweet guy. He treated me well, all my friends loved him, and he wasn’t selfish in bed. Kind to everyone. But that was just the problem. He was...too nice. How fucked up is that? I’ve broken it off with every guy I’ve ever dated because they aren’t assholes, apparently. I won’t even get into what my therapist thinks about that.

The closer we draw toward Gville, the worse my anxiety gets. It always starts in the pit of my stomach, squeezing my muscles until it spreads into my chest, shoulders, and neck. I can feel my back stiffening against the seat when we pull into town. My fingers itch to pull my anxiety meds out of my pocket, but I don’t. Not only because I don’t want to freak Logan out, but...well, I don’t want to freak him out. It’s not the same as it was before. Honestly, living in a place where I feel safe to be myself has done wonders for my mental health, but years of pretending and hiding growing up did their damage. ‘General Anxiety Disorder’ is what my psychiatrist calls it. Triggered by thoughts or feelings of helplessness. But I’m doing better. We found a great care plan and a fantastic therapist, and I’ve hardly had any anxiety attacks in the last year. Though, I also had the vastness of the ocean and a large city with plenty of space and freedom. Gville is small. Tiny. Claustrophobic.

Taking several deep breaths, I let the cold air sting some clarity into my lungs before I pick up my bag and walk into the house that almost became my tomb.

Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it, Taylor. Snow crunches behind me as he starts to follow, and my body stiffens. “Hey, Huck. Wait.” Goddammit. I keep going, mentally pleading that he gets the hint and leaves me the fuck alone. But apparently, not much has changed about him in four years because his hand wraps around my arm as he tugs me to a stop. “Will you please hold up a minute–” Letting go of my bike, I whirl on him, planting my hands on his shoulders to shove him back and away from me. “What the fuck do you want, Taylor?” He slips on the ice, falling flat on his ass with an oomph, and when he looks up at me in surprise… I forget to breathe. To think. For an instant, when his ocean eyes meet mine, it’s like all the years between us are gone. I’m back in that pool, thrusting into his hand while he places kisses all over my lips and neck. “Just wanted to say hi, man,” he grumbles as he slowly pulls himself to his feet, and I gape at him, taken aback. “You just wanted to say hi.” It comes out slowly, my voice leaden with disbelief, because is he fucking serious? “You just wanted to say hi?!” I step into him, curling my lips over my teeth in a sneer. “That’s really all you wanted to say to me after all this time?” His jaw tightens as his eyes jump over my face, and I can’t help but notice the scar on his brow is less prominent now. Still noticeable but faded. Still complimenting his features. The midday sun glints off an ear piercing, which catches my attention briefly....

Something in her tone tells me that this isn’t normal for him and that he’s not welcome, which makes me pause. Despite how terrible of a person Taylor is...this is his mother. Pity is the last thing I want to feel for him, but I’m not heartless. As I’m looking at this house for the first time with adult eyes, it’s eerie how there’s no trace of Maisie’s son to be found here.

My attention catches on the heavily tattooed skin at the backs of his hands and fingers. Hmm. I bet they look good wrapped around his cock— What. The. Hell. No. Shut up, brain. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I am not going to think of Taylor fucking Tottman in that way. Not anymore.

My throat burns, and I take another sip of water to ease my resentment. Over the last four years, they’ve never asked about anyone I’ve dated. Not once. I’d mention a boyfriend over the phone or when they’d fly out to visit, but they’d usually either ignore it or change the subject. Ever since coming out, it’s like they pretend it’s not real. Not that I actually got to come out...more like I was forced out.

I really do not need to hear about his love life. Not a conversation I want to be a part of. So I begin to rise from my seat, wanting to be anywhere else but here, when Taylor’s following words make me pause. “We aren’t together anymore.” I glance up at him to find his gaze on me intently. “We aren’t together,” he repeats firmly, and I sink back down with a soft scoff. Why do I care who he does or doesn’t date? Not my business. Don’t fucking care. I tell him all of this with my eyes, glaring at him. It only seems to amuse him, though, and he raises his brows.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, snagging my attention as I watch the way he pulls it in for a suck before releasing it, now red and plump. A memory plays in the back of my mind, my own teeth nibbling on that lip a lifetime ago, how soft it was. Snapping my eyes back up to his, I find him looking at me with a knowing smirk, and I mentally kick myself. Get it together, Huck. Damn.

No one responds, and Taylor exhales sharply before reaching up to take off his hat and run a hand through his hair. The action causes his jacket to ride up, revealing a smooth patch of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. I catch a muscled V and a dark trail of hair leading down before he lowers his arms again. “I’m going to load up my bike,” he mutters, turning toward the door. His hand closes around the handle before he glances back at me over his shoulder, meeting my baffled gaze. “It was nice seeing you, Huck. You look good.” And with that, he’s gone. What the hell? You look good?

The cameras do not do Huckslee Davis justice because, holy shit. Cranking the strap that secures my bike to the bed of my truck, I take a deep puff off my cigarette. If it weren’t for the end conversation with Maisie and Aaron, I wouldn’t have even needed one right now; seeing him again felt that good. Like I’ve been half alive for four years, and his presence just breathed new life into me. The California weather turned his skin a glowing golden brown, sun bleached his curls, and the years of football filled out his form to the point where his sweater stretched around his biceps and chest. He’s fucking beautiful. And still hates me. Not that I blame him. I still hate myself for what I did, too. I guess I’d just hoped...well, it’s ridiculous, but I’d hoped that he had lived such a good life out there that he’d moved past what had happened between us. But that’s just the coward in me talking. Nothing in my life has ever been easy; why would it start now?

Which is why I don’t fight. I didn’t last time, and I won’t now. For everything I’ve ever done, I’d let Huck kill me right here if it brought him closure.

Tears freeze on my cheeks, eyes sliding shut, and despite the pressure crushing my windpipe, I find my thumb gently rubbing circles into Huck’s wrist. Telling him that it’s alright. It’s okay, I understand. I’ve wanted to do this to myself, too.

His reason for not wanting to send me over the deep end about it stung, but I understand that’s what happens when you’re an attempt survivor. Those you love will fear losing you, and the trust has to be rebuilt. And that’s the thing about trust. It takes years to build, but only one minor lapse in judgment to blast it all to smithereens.

They right themselves on the bottom of the Globe, the crowd roaring when Christian pumps his fists and tackles Taylor to the ground. You can tell how excited they are at not dying, but the way Christian is lying on top of Taylor has my gut doing weird shit, so I turn away instead to look over at Logan.

“Just as we did last year,” Christian continues, “ten percent of the proceeds we’ve made this week are being donated to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, so from the bottom of our hearts, thank you.” My smile drops instantly, and a prickly feeling crawls under my skin as Christian hands Taylor the microphone. “Just remember that you are loved, and you matter.”

Taylor’s in here. I can feel it, but I force my eyes to stay ahead as Logan takes us over to where Salem is chatting with Christian and another driver. Her hoodie matches the other staff, red hair loose down her back. She turns as we approach, and I don’t miss how her eyes narrow at me before she leans up to kiss Logan. Before I can decipher that look, though, Christian yanks me into a bear hug. “Huckslee!” He smells like gasoline and sweat. My nose wrinkles as he pulls back with a crooked grin. “How you been, hermano?! Haven’t seen you in a minute. You’ve been looking good out there on the field, my guy.” Awkwardly stepping out of his touch, I give him a perplexed look. “You watch my games?” He jerks his chin, and I follow his gaze to see Taylor leaning against a far wall, engaged in conversation. “Baby boy never misses any. And if he does, he gets moody as fuck.” He...what? Baby boy? I don’t really know how to respond to that because I’m pretty sure it’s a lie, so instead, I turn to Salem, who’s staring at me with that same narrowed gaze.

Somewhere in the darkest pits of my mind, I wonder what the fuck Royce was talking about the night he told me that Taylor was in love with me. And mistakenly, that I was in love with him, too. We didn’t look like that. No, more than half the time, we wanted to kill each other. “Those are cute.” Speak of the devil. Taylor somehow crept up on me, appearing at my side with a smirk on his lips, his moto jacket tied at the waist with a shirt depicting Barbie dressed as a flag girl covering his torso. Still with the weird fucking shirts. Scowling at him, I try to ignore studying the tattoos that cover his arms. “What’s cute?” “The earmuffs,” he laughs, and my cheeks heat as I reach up to yank them off. “Forgot they were on.”

He smiles, biting his lip in the annoying way he does, and my gaze lowers to study the bruises covering his neck. A sick feeling settles in my gut, something between horror and satisfaction at my marks on him. His throat flexes as he swallows, and my eyes snap back to his. Tucking a dark strand behind his ear, he clears his throat. “Did you enjoy the show?” There’s a waver in his voice, almost like he’s...nervous? I cock a brow with a shrug. “Suicide prevention, huh? Bit hypocritical.” The minute it’s out of my mouth, I hear how petty it sounds, but I can’t help it. After the shit he put me through, hearing him say those words felt like a slap to the face. Taylor’s smile immediately disappears, leaving an odd, empty feeling in me when a flash of pain crosses his features. It tugs at my heart, but I don’t give a fuck because he doesn’t deserve sympathy. “I’m trying to move on and do better, Huck,” he says quietly, sad eyes holding my gaze. “That’s all I can do.” “Some of us don’t have the luxury of moving on,” I respond before returning to Logan. He’s got an arm around Salem with a drink in his hand, laughing at something one of the truck drivers says. Inwardly, I groan. Clearly, this means we’re staying a while. And I’m not about to do it sober. Making my way to the liquor table, I grab an empty solo cup and fix myself a drink, not even caring if it’s for the staff only. There aren’t many options, but I bartended for two summers in Cali and know what I like, so I make myse...

I feel eyes on me and slide my attention to Salem, who’s watching me again. Awareness prickles my scalp, telling me she knows I’m the reason for Taylor’s bruises, so I sip my drink while challenging her with my gaze to do something about it. She just raises a hand to itch her eye with her middle finger, a clear ‘fuck you,’ before grabbing Taylor by the shirt and hauling him away toward another group of people. The minute they’re gone, I pounce on Logan. “This isn’t weird to you, like at all?” I hiss in his ear, and he turns to me in surprise, looking for all the world like he forgot I was even here. Which pisses me off even more. “What’s weird?” I throw a hand over in Taylor and Salem’s general direction. “The fact that they used to fuck each other?” His brows shoot up and he lifts a shoulder, sipping his drink. “Not really.” “Seriously?” Grabbing his shoulder, I spin him around, showing him how Taylor is now braiding Salem’s hair. “He’s all over her. He’s all over you. That’s not weird?” Again, he shrugs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Honestly, Taylor’s pretty affectionate when you get to know him.” A scoff leaves my lips, and I drop my hand from his arm like it burns. “So you know him, now?” “Look, Huck.” Logan sighs deeply, facing me. “He’s not the same guy he was in high school, ok?” “Yeah, well.” I gulp down the rest of my drink, turning back to make a third. “Neither are you.” “Come on, man, don’t do this here.” He follows me to the liquor table, and I sc...

And, of course, as always, my mind is on Huckslee. Haven’t seen or heard from him since the night he whooped my ass, which is to be expected. Can’t really say I didn’t deserve it. The moment Logan whispered to me that Huck was pissed off at me for touching his best friend, I may have laid it on a little thicker than I usually would have. Because I’m a dickhead, first and foremost, but I also wanted to see what he’d do. In hindsight, kissing Logan was not the best way to do that. I fucked around and found out. And, unfortunately, there’s a small scar on my chin from Huck’s class ring to prove it. Honestly, I like it. Reminds me that maybe things aren’t utterly hopeless between us. I’m not stupid; I know why he was mad that night. It had little to do with Logan and everything to do with the fact that I wasn’t touching him. I could see it. Maybe I’m a bit delulu, but I don’t care. I’m holding on to that hope like it’s a lifeline.

“I’ve got good news,” she starts but pauses and makes a face when she sees where I’m lying. “Uh oh. Floortime, huh?” Shrugging out of her winter coat and kicking off her boots, she bends down to give BB a pat before crawling over to lay next to me on the carpet, shoulder to shoulder. After a minute, she speaks. “So. Tell me what’s up.” “Huck still staying with you and Logan?” Apparently, he’d asked if he could sleep on their couch shortly after everything went down, stating that being in his dad’s house again was what set him off. “You know he is.” Sitting up, I put my smoke into the ashtray on my nightstand before stretching out on my back. “How’s that going?” She purses her lips under her septum piercing. “I stay out of his way and he stays out of mine.” “Don’t do that.” I turn my head to frown over at her. “Don’t let what’s going on between Huck and me ruin shit for you and Logan. I won’t have that.” Her eyes meet mine as she lifts a brow. “And what is going on between you two, exactly?” Ain’t that the question. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” I groan, covering my face with my hands, and Salem just hums. Waiting for me to continue. Taking a deep breath, I speak into my palms. “I have to tell you something.” Hard swallow. “Right before school ended in the eighth grade, I kissed Huckslee under the bleachers in PE. And he kissed me back. I was so fucking happy that I fucked up—I was babbling about him at home, about how fun I thought he was, and how I couldn’t wait...

It’s crazy how I fled to California for the freedom to be myself, yet I left so much of who I was behind—drawing, motocross, swimming. Don’t get me wrong; I still swam in the ocean every chance I got, but pools were strictly a no-go. As my pencil glides across the paper, I can’t help but wonder if I left all of those things back here on purpose. Like parts of myself that no longer fit who I needed to become, which is wild because I fell back into football the minute I got into Berkeley. The one part of my life here that I never really had a passion for, yet I made it my whole world out there. Why? Because it’s easy, a voice inside my head states, one that sounds strangely like my therapist. And it’s absolutely right. Football is easy. It’s the ruse around myself I’d created in high school, and even though I’ve been openly gay in college, making my life all about football meant that I didn’t have to confront these other parts of myself that I never really gave space for. And where has that gotten me? Nearly a college graduate in a field I’m not really interested in, and a whole steaming pile of missed calls from my coach at Berkeley about the NFL draft in April. Which I’m also not looking forward to. Yeah, that feeling of every day being a waste? After seeing how passionate Taylor and Christian are about what they choose to do for a living, I can’t help but feel like I’ve wasted the last four years of my life.

It doesn’t feel good being this way. I know I should be the bigger person, but he drives me fucking crazy. Seriously, he brings out the absolute worst in me.

His gaze finds mine, those dark eyes looking so miserable that it hits me in the chest. Fuck, even sad, he’s adorable. Makes me want to make him hot chocolate and shit. Tuck a blanket around him. Sit on his face.

Huckslee and I are fucking toxic together. Which is precisely why I’m addicted to him.

It’s cozy, inviting, and also hella small. “So where is everyone sleeping, Salem?” Logan asks with barely contained irritation. “There’s only one bed and one couch.” Eyeing the soft-looking plaid sofa, I shrug as I set my bag down. “I’m fine on the floor.” “We can switch off between the couch,” Huck offers, sitting at the table without looking at me, and Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Or we can switch off between the bed?” Salem huffs. “Or we can all four just sleep in the bed together.” That earns her a look from all of us, causing her to roll her eyes. “What? It’s a King. Not like we wouldn’t all fit.” Yeah, right. Masking a snort, I cough as I head to the fireplace to warm my hands. “I’m fine on the floor, really. You know that, Salem. No worries.”

Mainly because my head is full of someone with dark brown eyes and soft, blond curls…

My mouth opens, but I close it, feeling like I swallowed sandpaper. Everyone’s attention is on me, but Huckslee’s dark eyes are the only ones I see, boring down into mine with such force that I find myself moving closer. This answer should be easy. I’ve thought about it constantly over the last four years, a subject I’ve broached with Doctor Hart numerous times. Being out of small-town Utah and free from my father’s bullshit helped. But I’ve never...put it into words before. Like, out loud. Given my feelings a name. “Answer the question, Taylor,” Huckslee snaps, causing Salem to glare at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Leave him alone!” Why does he want to know so bad? “No, he needs to answer.” My stepbrother’s gaze is like a black hole, swallowing me in. “I didn’t get a choice in coming out, so why should he?” Ah. So that’s it. Revenge. Sitting back on my heels, my shoulders slump as I stare at the floor. “I don’t…I don’t know.” He turns away, his scoff like a knife to the chest. “I don’t have a lot of experience, okay? I’ve only ever been with one guy, and he’s the only one I’ve ever...felt like that with. The only guy I’ve ever thought about in that way, so I don’t know if bi is the right word for it?” Breaking off with a frown, I bite my lip. “Either way, I don’t think I need to put a name to it. I just am.” Huck is watching me, but I can’t look at him.

“One more question,” he says slowly, turning it over in his hand, “then we can put the game away.” Rising from a crouch, he thoughtfully brings the card over to the sink, grabbing two glasses before filling them with water. After setting them in front of us, he lifts the card to read it. “Never have I ever been in love.” His eyes meet mine, a starry night against snow-capped mountains. He doesn’t make a move toward his drink. But I do. Holding his gaze, I pick up my glass and drain its contents before placing it in the sink. Neither of us looks away from the other. I don’t think he’s breathing. For all he knows, I could be drinking for Salem or any other girl I’ve dated over the years, but I know I’m not. And I make sure that he knows it, too, by how I look at him. Realizing I was in love with Huckslee wasn’t as earth-shattering as the books and movies make it out to be. I kind of always knew in the back of my mind. That’s why I couldn’t seem to stay away from him. I just never thought he felt the same, especially after the way I treated him. At least, until he punched me out for kissing Logan, and then hope pulsed to life inside this cold, dead heart. His eyes zero in on my lip, where it’s caught between my teeth, and he leans in slightly. My breath is trapped inside my lungs, little flutters of emotion flipping around in my stomach. Just when I think he’s going to press those soft, full lips against mine...he spins around, grabs his bag, and enters the bathroom before sh...

A deep sigh from the couch draws me out of my head. “I can tell you’re awake,” Huck grumbles, “and it’s keeping me awake. Go to sleep, Taylor.” With a hum, I draw my blanket tighter around me. “How can you tell?” He’s silent for a moment. “Your thoughts are basically screaming.” “What are they saying?” I whisper, stomach quivering. For a moment, I don’t think he hears me. “I don’t know what they’re saying,” he mutters, blankets rustling. “I never know what’s going on inside your head.” Yeah, Old Taylor was a mess at explaining his feelings. But slightly jaded, sober Taylor, who’s been in therapy for years, has formed healthier habits—well, healthy-ish. So I flip around to find Huck’s eyes wide open, on his side facing me. “I can tell you if you like?” He blinks. “Not interested.” Yeah, I bet. “Well, I need to say it,” I swallow, keeping my gaze on him. “Huckslee, I’m sorry.” “I said I’m not interested.” His face hardens, lips curling into a snarl. “I don’t want to hear it, Taylor.” “Maybe you need to.” He growls angrily, rolling over. “I don’t need to do shit. Leave me alone.” For a second, I just stare at him, feeling hollow. I’ve offered him an olive branch, not for the first time, and it feels like he keeps shutting me down. You’d think I’d take the hint. Move on, let him go, realize he can’t feel anything for me after our past. But hope still burns inside me, and I refuse to let it die. I can’t. Not when there are so many things unknown and unspoken between us. Because...

Grabbing my blanket off the floor and wrapping it around myself like a fucking toddler, I climb the steps up to the loft where Logan and Salem are currently snuggled up. “Scoot over. Huckslee’s pissing me off.” “Seriously, Taylor,” Logan grumbles groggily but shifts himself and Salem closer to the middle so I can slide in behind him. Loud stomps come from the stairs, and suddenly, Huckslee is rounding the bed to the other side. “Nuh-uh, no way. If you three get to sleep in the bed, then so do I.” He pulls back the covers but hesitates when he realizes he’ll basically be spooning Salem. “Either get in or leave,” she snaps, shivering. “It’s fucking freezing.” Making a decision, he crawls in behind her, as close to the edge of the bed as he can, before pulling the blanket up. His glare meets mine over both of their heads, making me even more irritated, so I decide to make everyone uncomfortable because now I’m in a bad mood. “If we all had a foursome, who would go where?” “Jesus Christ.” Logan burrows his face into Salem’s neck while Huck curls his lip at me. “Are you kidding me, Taylor?” “Hypothetically, of course.” Everyone’s quiet for a long moment, and I settle into my pillow, smirking when I think I’ve accomplished my goal. Then Salem’s sleepy voice breaks the silence. “I’d be in the back with a strap on,” she mumbles, “obviously.” That gets a snort out of me. Logan huffs in annoyance. “But who would you be fucking?” “Huckslee.” All three of us raise our heads off the be...

Sleeping in a bed with three other people isn’t as unpleasant as I initially thought. Even when I wake up to Salem’s hot morning breath on the side of my neck and Logan’s leg tossed over us, it feels oddly...nice. Safe, I guess. Despite all the shit that happened last night, it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. Even the sight of Taylor on his back with his hand resting on Logan’s hip doesn’t piss me off. It feels like we were all going through our own things last night and just needed comfort or something. Knowledge that we aren’t alone. I’ll be honest; it’s a weird bubble I don’t want to leave, but it pops the minute Taylor’s chest moves as he wakes and turns toward me. Like he sensed my alertness. Fixing my face into a scowl, I watch as he flashes me a sleepy grin and stretches, the hem of his shirt—Tweety Bird flipping two middle fingers–riding up to showcase his completely lickable abs. He moans into the stretch, the sound bolting through my cock, and I have to shove Logan’s leg off before he feels it jerk against him. And now everyone’s awake. Nice going, Taylor. I glare at him as Salem pulls away from me, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. You’re like a space heater. So warm.” “I know, it’s okay.” Logan tightens his hold on her, grumbling and unwilling to get up. He’s never been a morning person. On the other hand, Taylor springs to his feet with a chuckle, his dark hair adorably sticking up in the back where it flattened against the pillow. “Mornin'!” Those...

I feel lighter than air. For once, every thought and worry leaves my brain other than this very moment. Despite the adrenaline shooting through my veins, the noise inside me is calm.

It’s beautiful and quiet, all sound cushioned by the surrounding snowfall like we’ve stepped into a snow globe.

Despite the sun, a chill hits me from being out in the cold all day, which has me crossing my arms with a shiver. The snowsuit I borrowed from Logan is warm, but the air hitting my neck bites. A thermos appears in my vision, and I look over to see Taylor standing next to me, lines on his red cheeks from the ski goggles on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Nose pink. He looks so fucking cute that I automatically scowl. “Here.” He shakes the thermos. “It’ll warm ya.” I don’t know why I’m expecting something like rum or whiskey when I take a swig, especially when he told me yesterday that he’s two years sober, but what I’m not expecting is the thick, hot sweetness that rolls over my tongue. “Hot chocolate?” He grins, flashing his crooked incisor when he nods in encouragement, and I find myself staring at his bright eyes as I take a few more gulps before handing it back to him. The color in his irises seems more green today against the sea of white surrounding us.

“Want to ice skate with me?” He throws an offering hand out to the lake, and I raise my brows over my sunglasses. “Are you kidding?” That damn grin taunts me again. “Uh, negatory.” My eyes sweep over the lake. “Who knows how thin or thick that ice is?” His lips smack in protest. “Where’s your sense of whimsy, Huck?” “My sense of self-preservation outweighs it,” I choke out, and I feel him freeze next to me. The look on his face clearly indicates he’s been taken off guard, but he recovers quickly, and I stare at him perplexed until the words I said dawn on me. Sense of self-preservation. What, the knowledge that I want to live threw him for a loop? My chest tightens painfully as I turn away. I guess I get it. The whole trust thing, remember? Between the looks of worry I get from my grandparents and Logan, I should be used to it by now. And I am. Even if it still stings a little when it happens, I understand. But coming from Taylor? Something about it hurts more, and I can’t understand why. Things get awkward after that. I wish he’d join Logan and Salem and leave me be. The peace I felt earlier, that comfortable buzz inside of me, is fading fast with his presence so close, different from when I was pressed against him on the snowmobile. Against the cushioned hush of the lake, his nearness feels almost intimate, making my skin itch.

I chuckle, grinning widely, but then it falls off my face when I remember who I’m talking to. This is Taylor fucking Tottman, and I’m supposed to hate him. Because he’s an asshole. And selfish. And the cute, charming act he’s got on right now is just that; an act. As if sensing my sudden shift in mood, his face tightens, shoulders tensing like he’s bracing for something. We gaze at each other momentarily before I pull away, turning toward where Logan and Salem are sunbathing on a nearby picnic table. “We should probably head back to the cabin soon.” “Yeah. Right.”