1. Hunter

"Move over to the left. No! Jo-ey. Your left." I hold my phone closer to my face and squint, trying in vain to make out the details on the bodice of the deep crimson dress my best friend is modeling on the tiny screen.

It would be so much easier if I'd gone shopping with her today. But taking twenty-one credit hours means I have to be disciplined about my study time, especially so close to what's coming at the end of the week.

"You're hopeless," I tease as her image blurs again. We're both laughing so hard our screens are shaking. When she finally lines up the shot and I get a real look, I gasp.

"What do you think?" she asks, hip popped as she worries her lip. "Too much?"

The dress is a fit-and-flare style, and it's covered in tiny crystals that glimmer each time they catch the light. She looks amazing. Beautiful. She's shining from the inside out.

It makes me giddy to see her this damn happy. No one deserves it more than her.

"It's perfect," I practically squeal. "Kendrick's going to die when he sees you in this."

Joey cocks one brow, then uses her free hand to adjust her tits in the dress. "I'm not looking to take anyone out. You're sure it's not too much?"

"I'm more than sure," I assure her. "Plus, I could get you off on involuntary manslaughter. You can't help it that you're a knockout, Joey Crusade. That's the one."

She grins, her blue eyes sparkling. "You're good for my ego. Want to come over this weekend and help me figure out my hair and makeup?"

Sighing, I flop back on the couch and pull my sweatshirt strings tighter. The sun barely gives off enough warmth to be outside without a coat so close to winter, but I love the fresh air and peacefulness of studying on the balcony off my room. I'll happily sit out here year-round. That's what hoodies and blankets are for.

"I wish I could," I lament. "But I promised Dr. F I'd go with him to the South Chapel game on Saturday."

Lake Chapel University already wrapped up its football season, hence the reason Joey is shopping for formalwear. She's accompanying Kendrick to the end-of-season awards ceremony.

South Chapel University will play their final conference game this weekend. They won't be going to a bowl game, despite their winning record. College football playoffs don't make sense to me, but I'm not sad to see the football season winding down.

Although I'm not sure this is really the end for Greedy.

Dr. Ferguson, my stepfather, is under the impression that this is his son's last collegiate football game as starting quarterback for the South Chapel Sharks. He doesn't know yet that Greedy is considering a victory tour as a fifth-year senior.

Though Greedy is QB1 now, he didn't start his freshmen or sophomore years, so he has another year of eligibility—even though he's already taken the MCATs and has been accepted to medical school.

He's got some big decisions to make. Soon.

And some conversations to have with his dad.

"Well at least take a backup battery so I can text you," Joey proposes.

"I will. Promise."

Once we've said our goodbyes, I toss my phone across the balcony onto the soft lounge chair. It's the best way to avoid the distraction.

I have to get a ridiculous amount of work done this afternoon, or I'm going to have major regrets come next week.

Time to focus. I can do this.

I'm in the zone, flying through my schoolwork a few hours later when a hand lands on my shoulder, startling me so badly I fly three feet into the air.

Whipping my head around, I home in on the hand and forearm veins I swear I still see in my dreams. Maybe not in my dreams, exactly. More like in that hazy transition between sleep and awake where anything is possible.

I always see him in those moments.

Always.

I lift a hand to my chest, willing my heart to settle.

It's beating erratically because he startled me. That's the only reason.

Shrugging off his touch, I sit straighter, pop out my earbuds, and level him with a glare. "What do you want, Greedy?"

His face falls in response. Good.

Before he can open his mouth to answer, I double down. "Why are you here? You can't just let yourself into my room."

"We share a balcony, Tem. Plus I knocked a dozen times," he huffs, glaring right back at me.

"Don't call me that," I hiss for what might be the thousandth time since I returned to North Carolina.

Moving back into my stepfather's house six months ago was not my first choice.

Or my second. Or third…

But after my dad cut me off at the insistence of the stepmother I've never met—she's only three years older than me and currently pregnant with their second child—my options were limited, and I decided my multi-year "gap year" in Europe was over.

Greedy rolls out his neck, making the tendons there spasm like they always do when he's agitated.

I interlace my fingers in my lap to stop myself from smoothing a hand along his jawline and reminding him to unclench. Like I always used to do.

It's not my place. It's not my job. Greedy is nothing to me nowadays.

He has to be nothing.

"We need to talk."

My stomach sinks. I'm sure he thinks we do.

Greedy's been trying to edge back into my life since the moment I reappeared in South Chapel, and he's relentless. I'm usually pretty good at dishing up the cold shoulder or acting unaffected, but despite my efforts, I've suffered from a few moments of weakness…

I rise to my feet and plant my hands on my hips. I go for nonchalant, regardless of how impossible it is to feel nothing in his presence with the towering heap of baggage and leftover damage between us.

I will my voice to hold steady, even as I tremble inside. "We don't have anything to talk about."

Brow furrowed, he hits me with another annoyed look, though it lacks real heat.

It's ridiculous to wish he were angry with me, but I'd love nothing more than to make him loathe the day I reappeared in his life.

Regardless of the barbs I throw at him and the cold shoulder that's become my default, Greedy never looks at me like he hates me. Like what I did to him is unforgivable.

If he only knew.

When he regards me, there's no hate. Only sadness.

Sometimes I wonder if he knows just how sad I am on the inside, too.

"We need to talk about Levi. He's home. Well," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, "not home. He's at Lake Chapel General. He's having surgery today, and he's asking about you. He said he wants us to be there when he wakes up."

My heart stutters in my chest as Greedy's words sink in.

Flashes of hazy summer nights and swimming at the Quarry dance in my vision. Memories of sparkling blue eyes and country-boy charm infiltrate my thoughts. Snippets of days when I called him Duke, and he loved to call me Daisy.

Greedy brought us together, his best friend and his girl. For that one magical summer, the three of us were inseparable.

Levi.

He was such a good friend. To me. To Greedy. Loyal to a fault and always ready to help.

It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to think about the other boy I left behind when I fled to Europe.

"Yeah, okay," I agree. How could I not?

A little voice in my head mockingly reminds me that I don't have time for this.

I shift my weight from hip to hip, glancing down at the reading I can't put off. I have two weeks' worth of work to complete in the next ninety-six hours.

Even so, I don't have it in me to turn my back on our friend.

Levi was there, comforting me when I didn't know what to do. He sat by my bedside as I sobbed. He consoled me and calmed me as best as he could before I booked the one-way plane ticket that completely changed the trajectory of all our lives.

He let me go—he helped me escape—and if Greedy's standing in front of me willing to go visit him, I have to assume Levi's kept my secret safe after all this time.

I owe him so much.

So if he needs a friend right now, I can do that. It's honestly the least I can do.

Greedy clears his throat, interrupting my not-so-pleasant stroll down memory lane. "I'll drive. When do you want to leave?"

I meet his eyes, and another fragment of my heart crumbles to dust.

I miss him. In my heart of hearts, in my deepest, most private moments, I miss him. So fucking much. Sometimes I can't even look at him for more than a breath without feeling as though I'll drown in my sorrow.

Swallowing past the emotion clogging my throat, I give one last hopeless glance at my homework.

"I can be ready in an hour."

"Bring your work with you." Greedy nods at the pile of textbooks and errant pads of graph paper I've been worrying over. "We'll have to wait for him to be assigned a room, and I'm sure he'll be out of it for a while."

Relief washes over me. Why didn't I think of that? Studying will keep me from focusing on Greedy. I hope.

Rather than letting him see the way my tension eases at his suggestion, I slip into my default setting with him, popping my hip and pursing my lips. "Thanks for that, Captain Obvious. Now get out of here so I can get ready."

His nostrils flare, like they always have, at my bratty attitude. Based on the way Greedy looks at me nowadays—hard-set brow, mouth fixed in a scowl—I get the sense that he'd be better at calming me in Brat Mode than he used to be.

But I'm not his to handle anymore.

Just like he's not mine to worry about.

He stares at me for another breath, so I tip my chin and hold my head higher. It's a familiar place, this standoff we've found ourselves locked in over and over for months.

"See you downstairs," he finally relents with a sigh.

As he turns to leave, as he walks away, I have to envision there are cement blocks encasing my bare feet. It's the only way I can keep myself from running after him.