sorrows because of him, I didn’t send him anywhere. I hadn’t met him before that night, and my assumptions about him turned out to be so wrong. He was funny and charming, and he didn’t care who saw him being affectionate with me. It did occur to me that he was using me to get at the band, but when he asked my name, he genuinely wanted to know it, not having a clue as to who I was. As soon as I told him, he moved the conversation along, not wanting any more trouble with my brother and the guys. And because I didn’t care, I urged him to stay. He may not have wanted trouble with the guys, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to cause trouble with one of them. I knew exactly what I was doing getting to know Deacon, and I wanted Freddie to hear all about it. I wanted it to hurt him like he hurt me. Now, when I think back on it, I was so dumb and immature.
Turns out, I may have been the one with the power in the beginning, but I certainly wasn’t later, not until the day I left and went to the police.
I played games and got stung, big time.
Another text comes through, and I read through the messages he’s sent me.
Come home, please.
Call me, Jamiee. NOW.
The fuck you get the police on me for?
Bitch.
Look, I’m sorry. Please, call me back, I’ll be waiting.
I’m never letting you go.
I love you.
I go to delete the thread of messages, and think twice. In the morning, I’m going to ask Damon to help me find a lawyer so I can file a restraining order. Until then, I make sure my phone’s on silent, and put it facedown on the nightstand.
A door softly closes out in the hall, and I suspect it’s Freddie. Knowing he’s in the next room is both torture and a comfort. He’s always so close, yet still, so far from me. I close my eyes and go back to a time when Freddie was just a ghost in my room.
The smell of cinnamon and cookies fills the house. Christmas carols play softly from the kitchen where my mom hovers by the stove, cooking up her festive dishes. Dad finished putting the decorations up last weekend, and I’m definitely feeling the Christmas spirit. It’s hard not to. There’s something about the twinkling lights that makes everything and anything seem possible.
The countertops are covered with trays of cookies and biscuits cooling, ready to be iced and decorated. My mom gave up a few years ago asking me to help out, as I’m no good at it. My decorating skills are severely lacking.
Mom looks at me from over her shoulder, icing powder on her cheek.
“Can you go ask your dad if he’s set up the guest bedrooms for the guys?”
My stomach drops at the mention of “the guys.” This is the first Christmas in three years they’ve been home for the holidays.
I find my dad in the garage, but I forget what I came out for when an SUV rolls to a stop outside our house. They’re here, and Freddie Tucker is the first one to climb out, stretching his arms up and over his head. Butterflies don’t just flutter in the pit of my stomach; they’re swarming, their wings flapping up a storm at the sight of him. His hair has grown out, and it’s pushed back behind his ears. His lean frame is still the same, and his tattoos still snake up and down his arms, but the star above his right eyebrow is new. Hot. He’s the reason I took a trip to the salon yesterday for fresh highlights, and even had my nails painted. Freddie Tucker is my ultimate crush. Hell, it’s more than that—I’m in love. Only, it’s one-sided, and no one but me knows he’s the centre of my world. For one, he’s older than me, and two, he’s my brother’s best friend.
“Baby Coleman, look at you. You’re looking good.”
It’s nice hearing the words, but they don’t come from Freddie. It’s Baz who pays me the compliment, throwing his arm around me and dumping his bag on the garage floor.
“She’s underage, and I’ll rip your balls off if you even think about her in any way but my ‘baby’ sister,” Damon warns.
“Please, the guys at school say far worse to me,” I say, defending Baz and myself. I know he didn’t mean anything more