December
Riley
You know when you're in high school, and you promised your parents you'd tell them if you were ever in any trouble of any kind, and they'd help?
Doesn't matter if it's a flat tire, or you're drunk with no ride home, or it turns out your sweet boyfriend isn't as sweet as he seems.
Well, I can't tell my parents.
I'd promised my dad—an ex-cop—that if I ever ended up in this kind of situation, I'd tell him.
But I can't tell him. I really can't.
I met Gabriel Weston my freshman year of college. We clicked instantly. He had this boyish smile that had me swooning.
Me, the young eighteen-year-old, foolish, naive girl gave her virginity up to this sweet, charming blondie.
He's not sweet. He's not charming. I'm not even sure if he's a real blonde.
Mama Weston is a beautiful ginger. And Papa Weston has dark brown hair.
Gabe's older brothers? Both have chestnut hair. So where did the blonde come from? Chemicals. It had to have come from chemicals and a hairstylist. But he'd never admit it.
Now, you can call me foolish all you want, but you have to know the full story first.
I was eighteen. I'd hardly had a boyfriend. I was in a new state, with zero friends or family around.
I got into St.Timothy's Ivy League school on a full-ride scholarship.
I'm from South Bend, Indiana. Where my dad was a cop for seventeen years, and my mom ran my grandma's diner. But, Gram passed and Mom had to sell the place. Now, my dad has left the force and is helping my mom live out her dream of owning a food truck—selling mini donuts. It's quite the hit, surprisingly.
So, my parents sell donuts, my little sister is graduating from high school come May, and our youngest sister is only a freshman.
The first semester of my junior year of college is done, and I'm just counting down the days until I get to hug my family again.
But I got distracted, so back to the not-so-sweet boyfriend.
He started out perfect. Too perfect, obviously.
It wasn't until I was in too deep that I started noticing the changes.
He'd asked me to move in with him for sophomore year. But I don't have the money to rent an apartment—even half—and I knew I'd feel guilty about letting him pay. Even if he is crazy rich.
Gabriel Weston; star quarterback; hasn't worked an ounce of his life. He's seriously had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
I'd hurt his feelings when I told him I wanted to stay in the dorms. But in all honesty, we'd been together less than a year, I wasn't ready to move in with him anyways.
But he didn't like that. No, he didn't like that at all.
That was when things first shifted.
First, he started getting nosy. He wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, and where I was at.
Then he started getting possessive. If there were other guys around, I wasn't allowed to leave his side without permission anymore.
After that came the verbal abuse. He started pointing out all of my flaws. He'd knock me down and then continue to kick me.
Next came the control. He decides what I wear and when I wear it. He decides if I get to go to class or not. He decides if I get to go to work. He demands I watch practice. He demands I show up at every game and wear his jersey. He constantly checks my phone. He's always breathing down my neck.
So why didn't I leave?
I tried.
That's when the hitting started.
I'm stupid. And I'm not sure if it's because I've given up on trying to leave. Or if it's because I kept trying to leave, and I kept getting caught.
The sex is the worst part.
I go completely numb, and half the time I block it out and don't even remember it the next day.
Sometimes I wish he'd just drug me before he did it. That way I wouldn't have to experience the pain and his pleasure.
Someone else's pain is another's pleasure, right?
The door slams and I jolt, shutting my laptop quickly.
I hear heavy boot-clad footsteps climbing up the stairs and I sigh in relief. It's just Lucas.
Then the door swings open and shuts again. "Come on, Luc, you can't seriously be pissed off at that!" Gabe yells.
"Fuck off!" Lucas yells.
A heavy sigh echoes towards me as Gabe walks into the living area. "What're you doing?"
"I was looking up flights." I hesitantly say.
"What for?"
"Christmas. The sooner I get 'em the cheaper they'll be." I push to a stand, setting my laptop on the coffee table.
"I thought you were staying with us this year."
"Um, no. We talked about this. It's Hailey's senior year and she's insisting on everyone being there before she goes to the DR next year."
My sister is taking a year off and going abroad for mission work in the Dominican Republic. So, proud big sister over here.
"I'm sure we can work something out for all parties involved." Gabe crosses his arms over his chest. "Just don't make any decisions without me."
"Okay." I nod, pulling down the tube top I have on.
I'm a very modest girl. I don't wear daisy dukes, or mini skirts, or overly tight dresses. I don't wear crop tops, or shirts with plunging v-necks, or bralettes with nothing else over it.
I like to be covered up.
Gabe does not.
"Quit messing with your top. You look fine."
Heavy footsteps come marching down the stairs before Lucas enters the room.
Unlike his little brother, Lucas has dark chestnut hair and Complete Heterochromia; one blue eye, one brown eye.
But he's got this whole dark and moody vibe going on.
He wears V-necks every day with faded jeans, instead of the designer clothes Gabe wears. I've never seen him not wearing his broken-in Timberland boots.
And unlike his brothers, Lucas plays hockey, not football.
Gabe calls him the black sheep.
I just think he's cool. Note: hockey pun not intended.
Lucas also plays the guitar for a band that plays at the bar I work at. He's actually pretty good but says he doesn't want to play music for a living.
"We're talking about this." Lucas declares.
"What's there to talk about?"
"You made a promise to Dad, and you're gonna keep your word."
Ah, so that's what the door-slamming, brother-yelling was all about.
Gabe promised his dad he would go home to visit his mom this summer because she was recently diagnosed with MS. But Gabe wants to stay here for summer training.
"That was before I knew that Jeremy Keef would be a guest coach for training camp!" Is Gabe's defense.
Lucas is nearly fuming. "Well, what about Mom? Are you gonna call and tell her, 'cause I'm not?"
I find my eyes wandering to Lucas's bulging biceps.
Okay, I'll admit it. I have a thing for my boyfriend's brother. But, it's newly sprouted. I swear, I've never thought of him that way until recently.
I blame Gabe for my feelings.
If I were still head over heels, utterly in love with Gabe. Then Lucas would just be my boyfriend's brother, and even thinking about him in that way would be weird as hell.
But I'm not in love with Gabe.
And maybe Lucas is abusive too, who really knows? But curiosity killed the cat. And I'm so very curious about Lucas Weston.
But it doesn't matter because he's hated me since we first met.
Lucas
It goes without saying that I'm in love with my brother's girlfriend.
I mean, how could I not be?
Look at her, she's gorgeous.
With chocolate-colored eyes, and the lightest brown hair that's nearly blonde.
It also goes without saying that she's scared of me. She flinches every time I enter the room and eyes me warily.
It's a great cover for me though. Because if she's scared of me, she has no idea that I'm in the corner imagining all the ways I'd love her perfect body in my bed.
I'm definitely stupid for thinking of her that way.
And I'm foolish for thinking something could ever happen between us.
But Riley Peterson is a puzzle I can't solve. And I'm a master at puzzles, thanks to my Mama.
Speaking of my Mama... "Come on, Gabe. You haven't seen her since last Christmas. That's nearly an entire year away!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riley flinch when my voice raises, and I ball my hands into fists.
I hate that I scare her.
Here I am lusting over the damn girl, and she's over here flinching. She's oblivious to the fact that I want to fuck her, there's no way she has a clue that I want to stay in bed and cuddle afterward while some pillow talk happens.
I don't know how she and Gabe are still together.
She watches sappy rom-coms and he's the least romantic guy I know.
Also not to mention they're fighting all the time.
Then they have makeup sex. God, the makeup sex.
This townhouse has the thinnest walls known to man, so I hear every whimper that leaves Riley Peterson's perfectly pouty lips.
Jeez, I'm helpless.
But I'm also a romantic person. My dad taught me how to be the perfect gentleman, and baking sweet treats with my Mama while we watched her favorite classic rom-coms taught me how to win a girl over.
It's simple, really.
There a three main rules to every rom-com known to mankind.
Rule #1: The meet-cute is the most important part of the movie.
Rule #2: The man is almost always in the wrong during the third-act breakup.
Rule #3: A heartfelt, meaningful apology, with a bouquet of flowers, the promise of forever, and a passion-filled kiss will cure even the biggest heartbreak.
Men really don't pay attention. All women want is chocolate, compliments, and cuddles. I call it, The Three C's.
Do Riley and I have a meet-cute? No, because we're not a couple.
But that doesn't mean we don't have a playlist... Just kidding... Sort of.
Okay, it's a playlist filled with songs about heartbreak and shit, and most of them never fail to make me think if her.
For example, Conan Grey's "Heather" is number one on the playlist. And Stephen Sanchez's "I Want You" is next on the list.
My life has become depressing, truly.
"Riley, help me out here."
She sighs and turns to look at my stupid little brother. "Maybe you should go see your mom. I mean, is training camp that important?"