First Love (Winning at Love Book 2) Read online

  “I surrender. I need a nap, ya winos,” I slur.

  They both laugh at the comment. I can’t believe how much wine these two can drink when they’re together. This is at least the fifth time we’ve fallen into this day drunk trap. No wonder my uncle keeps going out fishing with his buddies whenever he can. Part of me is starting to wonder if my mom and aunt planned this as a way to get me to talk about Keaton. So far, it’s working. I’ve not only shared my true feelings, I’ve even asked them for advice a time or two.

  “Can I have my phone, please? I’m sure Eastlyn’s probably called me back by now.” I’ve recently surrendered my phone to a secret cupboard Belle uses to hide her chocolate from my uncle. Detoxing is hard. Not talking to Keaton has been excruciating, but so far, I’ve done it: sixteen days of unanswered messages and ignored voicemails, ones that taunted me to the point I decided I couldn’t be trusted to keep my phone with me.

  “Sure thing, sweetie. You thinking of calling Keaton?” My mom asks, brows raised.

  Well, I wasn’t. Now I am.

  “No. Only Eastlyn.” My mom nods, getting out of her chair and heading towards the patio door to the kitchen to retrieve my phone, I assume.

  “Want us to call with you, make sure you don’t cave? You looked a little unsure when your mom mentioned you know who,” Belle says.

  “No, thanks. I’ll be good. I’ve come this far. I refuse to give in now,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

  “Oh, shoot.”

  Belle and I turn when we hear my mom coming back, her eyes focused on my phone. How the hell is she walking so straight? I seriously need to build up my tolerance, I think, as I hiccup again.

  “What’s wrong?” Belle asks, before I can.

  “There’s a missed call from Eastlyn. A text, too. Also a text message from Keaton which came in a few hours ago. Should I delete it?” my mom asks, her voice soft.

  “No. It’s all right. Just swipe the screen and make the notification disappear, please,” I say, knowing my voice sounds a little panicked. That’s because inside, I’m feeling it. A message from Keaton when I’ve been drinking is an invitation to fall off the wagon if I’ve ever seen one.

  “I can’t—I don’t know h—” my mom says, flustered, looking at the screen.

  “Here, I got it,” Belle says, reaching up from her chair and taking the phone while I sit rooted in place.

  “There we go. Like it never happened,” Belle says, swiping, but I know better. I know it’s there, waiting for me. No matter how strong I think I am.

  “Are you sure you should call Eastlyn now?” Mom asks, and I couldn’t love her more for offering me one last life line before I lose myself in the abyss that is Keaton, like we all know I will.

  The conversation this afternoon consisted of me telling them how much I missed Keat, and how much I wished I could just say how I feel, regardless of the fallout.

  “I’m sure,” I smile, taking the phone from Belle and standing. Shifting towards the door to the house, I tell them I’ll be back in a bit, then suggest they might want to grab another bottle or two of wine, just in case. Both women hug me, and tell me it’s okay if I decide to call him, telling me how all that matters is my happiness, that maybe I should just read his messages and see.

  Once upstairs, I stare at my phone, and I decide Keaton Hatfield is a habit I’m not ready to quit, not now—maybe not ever. What didn’t help this decision was the conversation I’d had with Jane earlier this morning. Knowing Keaton’s missing me as much as I do him has me eagerly opening our text thread and reading over sixteen days of messages, starting at Day One.

  Keaton: Hey did you make it safely? You were supposed to text me.

  “Ha, I’m not supposed to do anything.” I roll my eyes as I read it over again.

  The next day’s:

  Keaton: Hellcat, East says you made it. Text me.

  “Of course he asked her.” I sigh, “At least he cares. Just not the way you want.” I remind myself.

  I read through the next bunch, then pause on one sent a few days ago.

  Keaton: Why will you talk to everyone but me? Kam, please.

  Keaton: I didn’t call her.

  I read that message at least fifty times. He didn’t call her. I press my palm over my heart knowing exactly who he means. “He didn’t call her.” I feel the tension slowly leaving my body, because if he says he didn’t call her, I believe him.

  I read the next one.

  Keaton: The server from Buon Gusto. In case that’s why you’re avoiding me.

  It was. It so was the reason. More than I realized. I kind of wanted to punish him, to let him feel what it would be like without me around when he wanted me. I don’t want to be Keaton’s backup or wingwoman, I want to be his only woman. And if that makes me selfish, then so be it. I deserve happiness after patiently waiting on the sidelines all these years. It’s time I get what I want, and what I want is Keaton.

  Smiling with resolve, I read the next ones.

  Keaton: The only girl I want to talk to is you, Hellcat.

  Keaton: Call me. We need to talk, Kam.

  I exit the thread needing a moment to compose my thoughts, to think of where to even begin. He’s right we need to talk. I have to tell him how I feel, tell him that I only want to talk to him, too. I’ve wanted to talk to only him forever…

  Exiting the chat with Keat, I see the message from Eastlyn waiting. Hoping it will help me buy me some time to get my thoughts and emotions in check, I open it.

  When I start to read, however, I quickly realize it isn’t from Eastlyn, but from Keaton.

  Tears cloud my eyes as I take in the words. I feel elation, happiness, and then panic. Full-on panic.

  Eastlyn: Hellcat, it’s me. You have four hours to text or call me before I jump on a plane and come for you. Don’t test me. This ends now.

  “Oh my god. He wouldn’t!” I say in my empty room, tears forgotten. And excitement taking over. Keaton so would. “He so would,” I whisper. I stand, phone forgotten, and start to pace. Thinking over the meaning behind his words, my heart thumps wildly, my brain working like crazy to decipher what my heart hopes it means.

  What “ends”? What does that even mean?

  “Come for” me, like how? A lover? Friend?

  Does he miss me? Does he want me?

  Like want me, want me?

  I look at the clock, thinking back to his message’s timestamp. It’s been over three-and-a-half hours since he sent it.

  Scrambling for the phone, my nerves are shot. I drop it at least seven times before I calm myself down enough to text him back.

  Me: I’m here! I’m here.

  Me: You didn’t call that Amber? I read your messages.

  I sit on my bed, crossed-legged, phone clutched to my chest, praying this all means what I hope it means. After what feels like forever, my phone buzzes.

  Keaton: There she is. I figured that might work. I’m at the airport, Kam. I meant it. I was coming for you.

  I read it and my heart starts to pound so hard in my chest. My fingers tremble as I try to type a response, adrenaline taking over.

  Keaton: She’s not what I want.

  I type, immediately feeling my walls crumbling again.

  Me: You didn’t call her…

  I repeat, needing to say it again.

  Keaton: No, baby, I wasn’t going to. I only took the number so I didn’t hurt her feelings. Was a stupid thing to do, ’cause it hurt yours instead.

  Me: I’m glad you didn’t call her.

  Keaton: Yeah? Me too.

  Me: I’m a little tipsy and a lot emotional.

  Keaton: That’s okay, I like you all ways.

  I can’t fight the grin or the tears. This feels right. Feels like it’s been a long time coming.

  Me: I like you in all ways 2.

  Keaton: That’s real good, Hellcat.

  I type before I can think better of it.

  Me: A part of me wishes I’d
missed your text. You would have been here soon.

  Keaton: Kami. U can’t say shit like that to me.

  Me: Why not?

  Keaton: Makes me think of doing stupid things.

  My hands are sweating so bad, I almost drop my phone.

  Me: Like what?

  Dots appear then disappear a few times before the next message comes through.

  Keaton: Like hopping on a plane so I can see and touch you kind of stupid things

  Me: That doesn’t sound stupid at all. Sounds like something I’d like.

  Keaton: Fuck, Kam.

  Me: I’ll be home in 7 days. I’ll text you all day every day until then. We can talk when I’m home?

  Keaton: Promise you won’t disappear on me? I really will show up, Kam. And yeah, we’re definitely talking when you’re back.

  I smile, my heart feeling so full, because I know he would have flown all the way out here. Even now he would, if I were to ask him. He’d cancel clients, rearrange his life to come. And for the first time I know he feels it, too. He feels whatever it is that has always been between us.

  Me: I know you would. I promise, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere again without you.

  After a few more messages back and forth, we say our goodbyes. I look a few things up online, then head downstairs to talk with both my mom and her sister. They both squeal like lunatics when I share the stupid things Keaton makes me want to do for him.

  28

  Something Stupid or a Leap of Faith

  Kami

  “You can do this. It’s going to work out. You know he cares. He basically said so last night. Texting is just as much proof as talking over the phone.” I give myself a pep talk while parking at the foot of Keaton’s driveway. “Worst case, you put yourself out there and he doesn’t feel anything more than friendship. This way at least you’ll know.”

  After Keaton and I had said our goodbyes via text yesterday, I’d immediately booked an early-morning flight back home, then confessed everything to the two sisters who’d been eagerly awaiting my return downstairs while I sorted out my life upstairs. They were sporting the biggest grins when they dropped me off at the airport this morning. Hungover and all, I swear those grins stretched from Prince Edward Island all the way to British Columbia. To say they were rooting for me was an understatement. Now, after a flight and a quick stop at home to shower, I’m here.

  Outside Keaton’s house, at nearly midnight. Ready to put myself out there.

  Just not quite yet.

  To help kill my nerves, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the one person I know who will encourage this in spite of everything.

  “Kami?”

  “Hey, yeah, it’s me. Sorry, were you sleeping?” I ask. Checking, I see it’s 11:52 p.m.

  “Yeah. Is everything okay? Are you okay? Your mom?” Eastlyn’s concerned voice asks.

  “We’re all good. Sorry to wake you.” I pause.

  “Kam?”

  “I’m home,” I offer.

  “You’re home? Like home, home in Guelph?” she asks, sounding more alert now, and concerned.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay…you’re six days early. You sure everything’s all right?”

  “I’m outside his house. In my car. His living room light’s on. Think he’s awake?” I ask, my voice giving way to the trembling nerves I’m feeling on the verge of doing something so stupid.

  I know she knows where I am without me having to tell her.

  “Yeah, Kam. Keat’s a night owl. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “You want to talk or do you want me to tell you to get out of the car?” Eastlyn asks, with so much kindness it brings a stinging sensation to my nose.

  “Tell me this is okay, East. Tell me we won’t have to talk about it until I decide, once I know what the hell is going on.” I close my eyes, waiting.

  “Kam?” she says my name softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hang up, and get the hell out of the car already.”

  “Right.”

  “Good. I’m going back to bed now. I’ll try not to bring it up. I’ll try,” she says, and I smile.

  “Okay.”

  “Love you.” She hangs up.

  How could I not be in love with Keaton when I already love his sister so damn much?

  “I can do this.” I unclick my seat belt and take a fortifying breath, ready to meet my fate.

  “Worst case, you talk and set some boundaries for moving forward as friends,” I say, trying one last ditch effort to soothe myself.

  Or, you both finally confess your love for each other and fall into bed!

  I race up the slate path with renewed expectations, and knock on the door three times.

  What I wasn’t expecting, however, was to come face to face with the beautiful redhead who opened the door.

  “Hey, there! Can I help you?”

  I’m stunned. I take a step back and look up at the house number again. #17. It’s Keaton’s.

  I can’t seem to find my voice, and it cracks when I do.

  “Hi. Is Keaton home?” I look past her, half-expecting him to walk up behind her, but he doesn’t.

  “He’s actually just hopped in the shower,” she says, and her voice seems familiar.

  Oh my god…Holly?

  “Holly?”

  “I sure am. Aww, has that Keaton been talking about me?” she smiles, and it only makes her look more beautiful than I’d initially thought.

  “Did you want to come in? I’m so rude. You’re Kim, right?”

  I feel like I’m about to collapse. Like I’m a flower wilting from lack of light.

  “Kami.” I manage, barely above a whisper.

  “Oh shit. I keep doing that. Yes, Kami. Of course, of course. Come in.”

  I don’t budge.

  “Tell him…tell him I can’t keep my promise,” I say, before turning and running down the driveway, getting into my car, and peeling my way down the street. Moments later, I suddenly pull over and feel the last bits of my heart crumbling at the hands of the one person I thought was finally going to piece it fully together.

  29

  Broken Promises

  Keaton

  “Fuck, fuck. Fucking fuck!” I pace from my kitchen to the living room and back.

  “I am so sorry, Keaton. I should have explained right away, told her I was only here to talk. Should’ve said I knew all about her,” Holly worries, then, mumbling, tacks on something about already knowing the answer to the question she’d come over to ask me.

  Whatever the hell that meant. I’m too pissed and hurt to care.

  “It’s not your fault,” I say, trying to make her feel better. At least she told me right away this time, right? It’s not like I can be an asshole to her when in all honesty it really isn’t her fault.

  “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Good idea,” I agree, my voice raspy, clogged with so much emotion.

  “Thanks again for being so nice. I’m sorry I just showed up, Keat. I hope it works out with you and Kami.”

  “Me too,” I say. I follow Holly to the door. I take a look outside in the street, looking hopelessly for Kam’s car to still be out front. It’s not.

  “Maybe we can touch base another time?” Holly says, and I’m too busy looking for Kami to really pay her any mind.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure,” I reply, too focused on trying to figure out what to do next. I close the door behind Holly.

  Walking back into the kitchen, I’m twitchy. I’m frustrated. I yell out into the empty space, pulling on the ends of my hair as if it will help me brainstorm what the hell I should do.

  Kami was flying home early for me and, of course, Holly suddenly showed up at my door.

  “Fuck me.”

  Leaning on the kitchen island, I whip the paintbrush into the sink, pick up my phone, and call her.

  Voicemail.

  I try again.

  Voicemail.


  And again.

  I don’t leave a message.

  I pour myself a drink. Three fingers of Scotch.

  Nothing I can say will make her talk to me right now. Not after our texts last night. Unable to stop myself, I have to try again. I tap out a text, hit send.

  Me: It’s not what you think. At all.

  Then another.

  Me: Kam, I swear. Come back, let me explain.

  Another.

  Me: Hellcat, please.

  I beg her, feeling sick. Holly’s words ring in my ear: “She said to tell you ‘I can’t keep my promise.’”

  This can’t be happening.

  Not now. Not when she’s flown home early.

  Dammit, it’s been seventeen days since I’ve seen her, and I’m about to explode from knowing she’s hurt, and that I’m the reason. We were supposed to talk; we should be together right now; I should be telling her how I feel.

  “For fuck sakes, she promised me.”

  “I promise, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere again.”

  “Dammit. So, what does she do? She bolts?” She didn’t even stick around to give me the benefit of the doubt. I shake my head, a little pissed at her for that.

  I think about driving over to her place, but I know better. I’m not in the right headspace, besides I’ve been drinking. Plus, I know Kami needs her space, and my showing up right now might make it worse. Eventually she’ll break down, read my texts, and hopefully call me. She’d better. Fuck, she has to.

  Pouring myself another three fingers of Glenlivet, I take the tumbler and head for the couch. Taking a long sip, I pick up my cell and decide to give Kami one last try.

  It rings and rings before going to voicemail.

  This time I leave a message.

  One I hope she trusts.

  I need her to take another leap, and after all this time, she has to trust in me. I have to deserve at least that, don’t I?

  “Kamilla,” I breathe out, “nothing happened between Holly and me. It was late, I’d been painting. The doorbell rang, and I bumped into the stupid ladder, spilled grey paint for the living room all over the front of me. Eventually I made it to the door and she was there. She was upset. Asked if we could talk a minute. I told her to come in, that I needed to clean up first. I ran upstairs. She was waiting for me, and that’s when you came. Once I found out you’d been here, I was too upset to listen or talk to her. She left. Kami do you hear me? She left. I don’t have a clue what she wanted, but all I want is you! And you left me. You didn’t even talk to me. You broke your promise, Kamilla. You broke it.” I hang up, and throw the Scotch tumbler across the room, shattering the glass against the fireplace.