person. I’m barely a person sometimes. I’m driven and focused and the last thing I had time for was friends. That’s why I graduated early and went to college before everyone else. I did that. Succeeded.
“How old are you?” I murmur, wondering how I missed that information. We always talked in the same way, and our references are in the same timeframe as though we were the same age. But now that I think about it, maybe she’s younger than me.
“Seventeen,” she states.
“Wow.” I laugh. “I’m nineteen.” It’s so crazy how a number defines a person, their past, their future, but doesn’t explain the truths hidden behind each year.
“I’d have never guessed. So you were seventeen when we met?”
“Yup, fresh out of my second semester of college.”
“College?” she repeats thoughtfully. “That young?”
“Yeah, it’s probably why we never met. Back in school, I’d been a completely driven youngster. I still am, but I’ve graduated and moved on. I have a Bachelor’s in Culinary Arts.”
“Like my aunt,” she mutters softly as though she didn’t mean to.
“Who’s your aunt?”
“Oh, you’ve probably never heard of her. Loren Collins.”
I think of the name, wondering if I’ve heard it. Then it dawns on me. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” she asks on a laugh, and I can imagine her now. Her stark black hair and melted silver eyes.
“Loren Tanner! She was the top of the class in her day. She literally has a plaque in June’s classroom.”
“Huh?”
“June McTavish. She’s the culinary professor at Brighton. She told me I was the next Loren.”
“Holy crap! You must be legendary then! Before she got pregnant and married Uncle Jase, she was the chef all the businesses wanted. Like Gorden Ramsey and Bobbie Flay.”
“I hope to be that awesome when I’m her age,” I respond, thinking of how amazing it’d be to be wanted around the world.
“Coming, Dad!” I hear her yell in the background before answering. “Maybe you will be, but I have to jet. I’ll text you my address, okay?”
“Thank you, Gray... for everything.”
“You saved my life once,” she teases. “I owe you a few.”
But I didn’t want her to owe me anything. I didn’t want anyone to feel that way about me. When we hang up, I’m stuck in those feelings. Of being a burden. Do I bite the bullet and just ask Dad for money? Will he help me? Should I suck it up and go back to Wes?
It’d be great if my mom was around. She’s missed so many things. She’d have been there for me through the worst part of my life, I’m sure of it. Gray texts me soon after with her address. And by the way, even though I owe you, I’d still want to hang out. You’re pretty cool, J.
The text has me smiling all the way to her place. I have the car I paid for after my dad took my money away, my bags, what little savings I had, and my dignity. But that’s it. I left my laptop, cooking utensils, and my fucking phone charger. Dammit.
Yet I was aware enough to grab the stupid package. Smacking the steering wheel with my head, I pull over. I dig through my smaller duffel and find my purse and iPod. Thank fuck. Who I now worship. I plug it in the auxiliary and find my Rager playlist. Yes, I have a playlist for when I’m ready to ditch the fear of ugly jumpsuits. Which is right now. NF’s “WHY” rings out. Within seconds, the familiar instrumentals and bass fill my ears. I start singing and continue my drive.
After what feels like no time at all, I pull up. The house I pull up to—correction—the mansion I pull up to is glorious. It’s absolutely massive, tall with a Grecian feel to it in brown and red, and mixes of orange with cobblestones like a Spanish Riviera home. I didn’t know Hawthorn had buildings this large. I’m surprised my parents didn’t come here instead. It’s less cliché than Hollow Ridge for sure.
Standing outside is a tall man. He’s not looking at me, but I notice his hands resting in his pockets in a comfortable posture.
With his face downcast and shoulders that any linebacker would beg for, he gives off a strong and intimidating presence. Tall—really fucking tall—and gorgeous as can be. He has the silkiest looking sandy blond hair. As though he’s paid millions of dollars to keep it shiny and wavy in that easy-going kind of way.
A trimmed beard lines his stern jaw all