They were laughing, bragging about how much cash they’d made in the ring, throwing back the beers Dad left in the garage before he skipped town—special mention to Daddy dearest for taking off with his kids’ bleeding hearts but leaving the booze.
Kendrick told the guys the fights helped him control his anger. I confronted him the next day. “How on earth does destroying people’s faces help you control your anger?” I asked. “Drop it, Kass. You wouldn’t understand,” he answered.
In Kendrick’s defense, I don’t think there are many great ways to react to your father walking out on you without a goodbye, but news flash: I got abandoned, too, and I don’t go around breaking noses for fun.
Kendrick made me promise not to tell our mom. And I didn’t. But not because I wanted to protect him—not by a freaking long shot. Because I wanted to protect her. She’s been through hell and back these past few months, juggling the divorce and becoming a single mother overnight. No way was I adding on to her plate.
And while I may not care to ask questions, as I’d rather eat Brussels sprouts for the rest of my life than get involved in my brother’s drama, I have a feeling this street fight BS is way bigger than Kendrick would like to admit. It might’ve started out as a way to channel his anger, but now?
It’s more.
Much more.
Impatient, I pull out my phone to check the time. Winter should be here any second. She’s been sending me memes from the plane—you guessed it, her flight was boring. But not as boring as the lady next to her who thought showing a perfect stranger pictures of her cat for two hours straight was a good idea.
I crack a smile.
Been there, done that.
I’ve always been the Universe’s favorite target when it’s bored. I just have one of those faces, I guess. You’d think someone smacked “Talk to me when I have earphones in both ears. That means I’m interested” on my forehead. While we have that in common and a rare fluency in this advanced language called Sarcasm, my cousin and I are overall very different.
Winter is eighteen and one year older than me, like Kendrick, but we’re in the same grade as I started school early. She’s also more of a “Go with the flow” kind of gal.
I, on the other hand, have spent my entire life preparing and planning ahead. I can’t let go of control no matter how hard I try, and my big brother loves to remind me of my controlling tendencies every chance he gets.
I got it from our dad, who made the drilling of his life mantra into my brain a priority: “You don’t just get your dream job like me by leaving things to chance, Kassidy. Only losers believe in Destiny. Winners believe in odds and hard work.”
Pretty ironic that my father turned out to be the one thing I couldn’t have control over.
“How much longer?” I huff.
“Chill. She’ll be here,” Kendrick drawls, tearing his eyes away from his phone when mine pings with a text.
Zoey: I need you. CODE RED!!!!
My lips tip into a smile. Meet Zoey Michaels, expert drama queen, in love with love, vegan who forgets she’s vegan when she wants a burger and—drum roll—my childhood best friend.
“What’d the idiot do this time?”
I flick my head to see Kendrick peeking over my shoulder without a splinter of shame.
“Really?” I clutch my phone to my chest.
“She dumped his ass yet?” he asks.
“No, of course your brother isn’t annoying, Kass,” I mumble under my breath. “Said no one ever.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He beams.
Technically, he’s wrong.
I could blame him. You see, my brother and I have only ever had one sibling rule: no dating, looking, or breathing near your sibling’s friends.
Ever.
In another world, I’d have a right to be pissed at him for crushing on Zoey. But… in this one?
In this one, I broke the rule first.
You know the awkwardness that occurs when you’re forced to see someone you dated after breaking up? That cringeworthy moment that makes you want to crawl under a rock and never come out?
That’s what I’ve had to deal with every single day for weeks now. In my own house, as if it weren’t bad enough. If you think running into your ex in public is bad, try coming home to find him on your couch.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my ex-boyfriend and biggest waste of time: Blake Nichols.
Yes, as in the Blake I mentioned earlier. Brother’s friend, dark hair, muscled—you get the idea. I should’ve known he was trouble with a capital T from the first time I saw him. Kendrick had me beat in that department. He knew Blake was bad news from the get-go and strictly forbade me to date him.
Then there’s Alex.
The only genuinely nice guy out of all my brother’s buddies. He’s kind, respectful, the “mom” of the group if you will—I mean, if moms had rock-hard abs and striking green eyes.
I know Alex to have grown up with two younger sisters and overly strict, loaded parents, which raises the question of how the guy with a picture-perfect life ended up dislocating jaws for money.
Illegal habits aside, Alex is a perfect gentleman who’s only ever had a few girlfriends, as opposed to Blake, who got around more than the seasonal flu. Alex is the only guy my brother deemed Kass-boyfriend material, and so Blake and I came up with a plan.
After weeks of begging, we got Alex to cover for us. I pretended to date him, asking Kendrick to drop me off at Alex’s, only to go to Blake’s the second his car dashed down the street. I was so naive back then, so certain what Blake and I had was love. Until our “love” was murdered by a three-word text.
We’re done. Sorry.
Blake ended our six-month relationship over
