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Soundtrack for this chapter:
Boston—Augustana
Shake it Out—Florence + The Machine
Sex on Fire—Kings of Leon
Slow Hands—Niall Horan

1

Jules

Autumn comes early in Boston. At least, for someone who spent the first twenty-six years of her life in Savannah, Georgia, it does. By August, the average high temperature is a breezy eighty at the most. Compared to the balmy nineties I was used to back home, it was a pleasant change.

August back home in Georgia meant beads of sweat and thick lungs by seven in the morning. August in Boston meant a slight chill in the air, a should I bring a sweater with me? as I walked out the door each morning.  I was of the firm belief that August in Boston was far more favorable to August in Savannah, for more than just the weather.

One thing that was universal, whether it was August in Boston, Savannah, or nearly any other city in the United States, was that college campuses were ramping up to have their next eager class of bright-eyed freshman storm their grounds and halls. As a clinical counselor at Parnassus University Cambridge, I was more than aware of how quickly their eagerness to finally be away from home turned into stress, doubt, and a general feeling of do I belong here?

Last August was my first ever influx of what my colleagues deemed "the freshman experience." I'll never know exactly how many students I spoke with that first night on the job, assuring them that what they were feeling was temporary, that it would get easier with time, that they wouldn't always miss the dogs and cats and bearded dragons they had to leave back home with mom and dad. What I do know was that I didn't have a chance to allow my head to hit the pillow until the sun was fully up.

And then, a year later, I found myself a week before it would happen all over again with the fresh crop of eighteen year olds who think they're ready to let loose. Let there be no mistake: I love what I'm doing. Focusing on solving other people's problems instead of dealing with my own has been a wonderful way to put off the inevitable. Some days, I was even able to forget that I had my own mess to deal with back in Georgia. But this wasn't one of those days; as I was trying to get ready for a night out, I was simultaneously trying to come up with an appropriate response to the email my lawyer had sent.

I read and reread his email as if it would help me construct something logical to send back. Procrastination at its finest.

Ms. Calhoun,

I hope you are well. It's been a few months since we last discussed your divorce. Nothing can be finalized until the papers are signed by both parties, and as of now, neither you nor Mr. Buchanan has done so. If you have any questions or know of a timeline, please give me a call.

Sincerely,
Simon Winston, Esq.

My first thought was that if my mother and father knew I'd changed my surname back, they'd be furious; my second thought was that Will would never sign before me. He may never sign at all.

A knock on my door halted all thoughts of my ex husband. Well, technically, soon to be ex. It's complicated. I shut my laptop and decided I'd figure out a response in the morning.

"Coming!"

Living in the staff housing of the university had its perks. One of which was not having to pay rent. Another was being able to hang out with colleagues like I was back in college.

I stood in front of the little mirror to the left of my door and took in my appearance. My nose involuntarily scrunched as I noticed that some of the freckles I'd tried to cover up were peeking through my makeup. No matter; the lighting in the bar would likely be dark enough to conceal the rogue spots.

My fingers fished in my purse for a clip to pin back the hair that kept falling in front of my eyes. When they finally grasped it, I set the edge of it between my teeth and gathered small sections of the soft brown hair that hung on either side of my face and twisted them back, finally securing them with the little clip. I let the remainder of my locks cascade over my shoulders; luckily, they still maintained the slight wave left in them by the curls I'd worn earlier in the day.

As I made the move to grab my keys, I almost made one to grab my guitar as well. But then, with just a slight twinge of regret, I remembered that I was going out to enjoy someone else's music. That ever-present voice in my head also reminded me that I had set the goal of going home with someone new within my first year of living in Boston and that I only had four more hours to meet it. She had her doubts, but I was more than determined.

A steady pounding assaulted my door, and I pulled it back to reveal a foot-tapping Nora with raised eyebrows. They lowered when she took in my appearance.

"Oh, yeah. You'll definitely get laid in that."

Her word choice made me cringe. "Really? I don't want to look, I don't know, slutty." My eyes glanced down at my clothing. I was just wearing dark skinny jeans and a black sleeveless blouse. Granted, the blouse had a plunging neckline, but I thought it was tasteful...my chest was, as grandma used to say, flatter than poorly whipped meringue. Maybe it was the heels?

Her eyes rolled. "Relax. You don't look slutty. You look sexy."

I moved past her and locked the door.

Nora was just a year older than me and also worked in the freshman counseling center. There were a few designated couples counselors on campus too; they knew me well as I always sent freshman couples to them. I was so far from being qualified for that area of expertise that a romantic comedy and a few bottles of wine could do a better job than me. Divorced (sort of) at twenty-six and a couples counselor? Water and oil.

Mine and Nora's heels clicked in sync upon the pavement as we walked to the edge of campus to call a cab. During the summer, we could easily go out to bars and restaurants that were close to campus, but once the students came, we made an effort to move farther and farther away. There wasn't a specified rule or anything, but I'd done my internship while getting my Masters at a local public high school, and I could never get over seeing the kids outside of school.

A short cab ride brought me and Nora to Midtown, a local spot known for it's live music on Friday nights. I'd never seen the same band perform twice there; I think that was kind of what it was known for, always offering a different performance every Friday. It would've been cool to play there, but I could only imagine the length of the waiting list.

Once inside the bar, Nora and I grabbed a high top with a decent view of the stage. I figured that even if I didn't achieve my goal, I'd at least get a good show out of the night. I had a fleeting moment of thought where I considered what my mother would think if she knew my plans for the evening. A single shudder worked its way over me. If she were to walk in, she'd maintain as much of her pride and dignity as could be afforded her, whisper in my ear that I was to follow her out to the car, and then spend the entire fifteen hour drive back to Savannah reprimanding me for jeopardizing the family name and bringing shame upon my ancestors.

I glanced down at the tattoo on my forearm, the first visible mark of my rebellion, and all thoughts of mother lifted from my mind. I'd managed to place over a thousand miles between me and all that was left in Savannah, between me and the life I lived where I was committed to upholding the family name at all costs. There was a second little voice in the back of my head that kept egging me on, telling me I needed to fully break away from what was left back home, which meant fully breaking away from Will. She was at odds with the one telling me I'd never actually go home with a stranger. But I couldn't deny the hope in my heart that going home with someone would finally break that emotional tie to him.

Nora's snapping fingers in front of my face brought me back to my present reality.

"Sorry, just thinking."

"What do you want to drink? I'll go order something from the bar."

"Oh, I'm not drinking tonight. I want to have a clear head for this."

"Smart girl. I, however, am going to start with a blood orange margarita." And with that, she disappeared into the crowd by the bar.

A clash of cymbals caught my ears, and I turned towards the stage, which had become inhabited by a number of men moving various pieces of equipment around. The one handling the drums grabbed the cymbals between his fingers to cease their reverberations. His crisp white dress shirt was idiosyncratic with the ripped jeans and sleeveless t-shirts of the other men on stage. I turned my attention back to the equipment he was handling and squinted my eyes to read the words on the front of the drum. When they came into focus, I smiled; they read, "Dark Before the Dawes." Clever.

Once the stage was set, the band took their places behind each instrument. My eyes immediately fell back on the drummer from earlier. He'd changed out of the button-down he'd been wearing and into a Stones t-shirt, intricate ink now visible on his right forearm. Mother would certainly disapprove.  He had the same slimfit jeans on as earlier, and as he counted them in by whacking his drumsticks together four times, I was reminded that I'd always had a thing for drummers. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because out of everyone, they seemed to be having the most fun while performing. Or it could have been the skill needed in maintaining the time and rhythm for the rest of the group. Whatever it was, it worked on this one beautifully.

His head of chestnut hair was an enigmatic balance of looking somewhat messy yet perfectly in place, even as he rocked his head to the beat. As my eyes moved from his hair to his face, I was able to make out a strong jawline, though one that was partially concealed by brown facial hair. It was slightly more than a five o'clock shadow, as if he'd shaved one or two days prior. As for his body, there was a quiet strength in it; nothing bulky, but his muscular structure was clearly defined. He may not have been a regular at the gym, but he was likely there a few times each week.

Every time his sticks came down on the tightened skin of the drums, I felt the beat in my chest. Though, I felt that no matter who, or what, was playing. Music has been my outlet for so long, and watching live performances, or actually performing, became my number one escape. I don't think I could ever accurately explain it, but something happened when the beat of the drum pounded inside my heart.

The band began with a little nod to 90s grunge, brought us into the early 2000s with a variety their own versions of rock hits, and closed out the set with a cover of popular current British alt-rock band. It made me wish I could perform songs like those, but I've always stuck with the lighter stuff. I didn't have it in me to be a head banging, guitar swinging, rock and roller.

When the band took their final bow, one that earned them a standing ovation from most patrons, including me and Nora, Nora looked at me with devilish eyes.

"Alright, missy, you still up for meeting your goal?"

"Yes, but I haven't really been scoping anyone out. I was too engaged in the music."

"I know. You didn't take your eyes off the drummer the entire time. Maybe you should go after him."

"Please. I'm not naïve enough to think that's going to happen. Besides, I'm sure he's someone who's used to taking home any girl who looks his way. I'd like to go home with someone I can respect, at least for the next few hours."

"Beggars can't be choosers."

I swatted her arm from across the table. "I'm not begging for anything. If it doesn't feel right, I'm not going to do it." Told ya. I sent that damn voice a silent shush.

"Good move on your part. You've never actually gone home with someone before, have you?"

"Well, I mean, define going home with."

"If I have to do that, the answer is no. Have you even been with anyone other than your ex?"

I ticked back through the years in my head. "I dated a guy my freshman year. He was my first. I introduced him to my parents when they came to visit one weekend, and once he was out of earshot, I was told to end it."

"I'm not sure how you managed to stay under their reign for so long."

"Me either. You know what, I think I am going to get a drink. Maybe I'll meet someone on the way there." I lifted my eyebrows at her.

"Doubtful, but maybe. I'll keep a lookout. Wingwoman is my calling."

My eyes involuntarily rolled as I got down from our hightop. As I made my way through the crowd of people, I had a moment where I questioned if I really wanted to do what I'd set out to do. Was I really ready to sleep with a stranger? To share a level of intimacy with someone I'd known for less than a few hours?

But then, the last words mother said to me rang in my ears, "you will not be the fall of this family's name," and suddenly, that bubbling of rebellion took hold in my heart once more.

Miraculously, there were two open seats at the end of bar, and I knew they'd be my way in to grab the bartender's attention. I sat in one of the seats and leaned up on the counter, twenty dollar bill visible in my hand, and waited less than thirty seconds. It might have been a new record.

"What can I get you?" A petite blonde with her hair pulled back flashed me a quick smile. I glanced at their draft list and saw the seasonal cider they had on tap. It wasn't something that would knock me over, but it could help take just a slice of the edge off.

"The cider on tap. Thanks." She disappeared for a moment and returned quickly with a glass brimming with amber colored liquid. She took the twenty and returned with a ten and a few ones. I placed two of the ones on the counter and grasped my drink, ready to get up from the stool and head back to Nora. That was when fate intervened.

"Anyone sitting there?"

I swiveled in the direction of the voice and found myself staring back into the bright blue eyes of the drummer I'd been watching earlier. He'd changed back into his dress shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up his forearms. My eyes couldn't help but take in the colors inked into his skin and the ways his muscles moved beneath them. I found him to be more attractive up close, which resulted in a steady heat building in my face. Maybe it was the fact that I knew he'd be the kind of person mother would despise upon first glance that made him so appealing.

"It's all yours." I turned back around to face the bar as he plopped into the seat next to me. "Great set, by the way."

He gave me a sweet smile. "Thanks. Band got back together just about a year ago. I'm still shocked we were able to play here. There's a long waiting list." He extended his hand to me, "Theo."

I took his hand in mine and gave it a small shake. "Jules." Damn it. The moment it came out, my own ears picked up on the slight southern twang that accompanied it. It had a habit of making an appearance at the worst times.

"Not from around here?"

I cleared my throat, making a conscious effort to hide any remaining traces of my accent. "Georgia."

"Hmm. I thought it sounded just a bit different than what I'm used to. I was stationed in South Carolina for the first few years of my enlistment."

Military? That was the first curveball. By his looks, I judged him to be a little rougher around the edges, not someone who went through the rigid and structured training of boot camp. I went to open my mouth to comment, but the blonde was back to take his drink order.

"Rocked it out tonight, T. What do you want to drink? It's on the house."

"Manhattan, bourbon instead of whiskey. Thanks, Jen."

She smiled at him; it was clear they knew each other. I assumed she was one of the many girls he'd taken home before. Perhaps he was an expert in this art.

He turned his attention back to me once she left. "I made friends with a number of locals down there, but their accents were a little different than yours. What are you doing so far north?"

"I'm a counselor at Parnassus. About to enter my second year there."

A new, subtle light came out of his eyes, as if he were pleased with that information. "That must be really interesting. My youngest sister got her degree there. She graduated two years ago, so you just missed her. Beautiful campus."

"It is. Are you still active in the military?"

His head shook before the words came out. "No. I signed an eight year enlistment, six years active and two inactive. That ended when I was twenty-six. After my time was up, I trained to become an EMT. Been doing that for about three years now."

EMT. Second curveball; none of these things seemed to go together, but then again, I should have learned from my parents that judging someone based on their looks was unfair. "Music is just a hobby?"

"Pretty much. We play some local gigs, have done a few weddings. It's more for the fun of it than anything else. And we really just do covers."

"I know what you mean; I play too sometimes. Guitar mostly."

The bartender set Theo's drink in front of him. "Manhattan with bourbon. Let me know if you want anything else." She left him with a wink before turning back to the other patrons.

"Went to high school together."

"Huh?"

"Me and Jen. We went to high school together."

"Oh. You didn't have to explain." My face grew hot again. Is this what meeting people at bars was like? I've clearly been out of the game for far too long. Regardless, my brain was still stuck on the military aspect of his history. "Were you ever deployed?"

He coughed a bit as he took the first sip of his drink. "Fuck, that's strong. Yeah. I did a stint in Afghanistan when I was twenty-two."

"Twenty-two? That's so young." Too young to get married, that's for damn sure. "How long were you there?"

"Just about six months." He took a long sip of his drink, and I felt like I'd touched on a bad subject.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked such a personal question."

He gave a small wave of his hand between us. "No problem. But, now it's your turn. Why take a job so far from home? I have to imagine there are campuses just as beautiful as Parnassus in the south."

"It's complicated."

"Try me. I like a challenge."

"My parents are very...prideful. The sanctity of the family name is held above all else. I've been given the threat of disownment more than once in my twenty-seven years. It was time for a change."

At first, he didn't respond, and I realized I may have blown any chance of going home with him; surely he wouldn't want to sleep with someone with family issues. But then, he picked up his glass and raised it to mine. "To escaping."

I clinked mine with his with a smile. "To escaping."

Our conversation organically evolved from a very basic level of getting to know each other to discussing everything from our tastes in music to the books we read in high school. While I was of the firm opinion that To Kill a Mockingbird was the greatest piece of American literature ever written, he had a soft spot for The Things They Carried. Made sense given his military experience.

At some point during our conversation I completely forgot that I'd shown up with Nora. I wasn't even sure if she was still in the bar. I was so engrossed in our exchanges that I had even shifted in my seat so that Theo and I were turned into each other, knees interlocked. His left hand rested on my thigh as the other held onto the glass of his Manhattan. Then, all at once, I felt myself lean into him. This is it.

His facial hair was at that perfect length where it was just long enough to be soft against my skin. Our mouths moved in perfect sync, and when his tongue pressed against my lips, I granted him access. In that moment, I knew I'd go home with him if he asked.

As Theo broke our contact, I faintly heard the bartender announce last call, and I opened my eyes. Theo was the one to make the move.

"Do you—would you like to get out of here?"

His shining blue eyes were drawing me in like a Siren Song. I felt my head shaking up and down before my mouth could form a word of approval.

"My place or yours?"

The edges of my lips turned up. "I live in a glorified dorm. Unless you have some fantasy you never got to bring into existence..."

He laughed, a real, genuine laugh. "My place it is. Need to call a cab though. I came with one of my bandmates in the van we use to transport all of the equipment."

"Okay."

I watched him tap around on his phone. I guess, technically, since it was beyond midnight, I didn't meet my goal. But, better late than never.

I followed Theo out into the street and waited with him until a white SUV pulled up to take us to his house. He opened the door for me, and after I was settled, he climbed in.

"Theo?" The driver confirmed we were the right pick up.

"Yes, sir."

"Twenty minutes." He spoke with a lit cigarette between his teeth. I rolled down my window in an attempt to keep my clothing from smelling like smoke. Theo seemed to have the same thought in mind as he too put his window down.

Our journey was mostly silent, save for the soft jazz emitting from the car's sound system. A few times I thought that I shouldn't go through with it. But each time a fleeting moment of doubt entered my mind, the kiss we shared moved to the forefront, and the doubt went floating away. If nothing else, this would be a damn good physical release.

Part of me felt like we weren't doing this right. Like we should both be drunk. Like we should be insatiable. Like we should be animalistic. Then I reminded myself that there is no right or wrong way to have a one night stand.

Regardless of what happened in the next hour, I had no plans of ever seeing him again, so what did it matter if we weren't doing things by the books? Mother would've killed me if she knew what I was about to do. But I just wanted to feel free. I wanted to make a decision that no one else could make for me. One that was purely my own.

Upon walking into his house, a brick-faced row-home in Beacon Hill, he flicked on a light and hung his keys by the door. In a hushed voice, he asked, "Do you, um, need anything, like water?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay. Thanks, though. Does anyone else live here?"

"My two brothers, but they're likely already upstairs sleeping." He stared back into my eyes and furrowed his brow. "Have you done this before?"

"Done what?"

"Gone home with someone."

"Wha—of course I have." I tried to make it sound as convincing as possible, but something in his eyes told me he didn't quite believe me.

No matter, though. He grabbed my hand and led me up the staircase. From that moment on, not once did I feel a morsel of unease or like what I was doing wasn't right. It was almost difficult for my brain to comprehend. Maybe it was his military background. Maybe it was his eyes, the color of the sea.

Once inside his room, he flicked on a small table lamp on a dark wooden desk in the corner. The appearance of his room pleased me; my eyes scanned it for piles of clothes, dirty dishes, a stack of unopened mail, but they found none of those things. And suddenly, I didn't want to wait any longer.

I kicked off my shoes and left them by the door to his room. He hadn't moved since turning on the lamp, and with a few quick steps I found myself face to face with him. To make it clear to him that I wanted to be there, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down so his lips could meet mine. They were tainted with the lingering taste of bourbon.

His mouth moved against mine sweetly, and for just a second I again had this flashing thought that this was not how these things happened in the movies. We should've been ripping off each other's clothing, stumbling to the bed. I was glad that we were both sober.

I began to back up, an invitation for him to follow me to his bed. Everything felt electrified; everything felt new, and for a little while I was able to forget that I had once committed my life to someone, for better or for worse.

The fresh scent of his sheets mingled with the stale cigarette smoke left in our hair from the cab and the slightly salty, mild odor of sweat. As my lips pressed into his neck, my senses were further met with a trace of whatever fragrance he'd spritzed himself with earlier in the night. Warm notes of patchouli mixed with bright citrus made my eyes fall shut to fully appreciate it.

Our foray in his bed held the same quiet passion that fit our night. Clothing was delicately peeled off and dropped to the floor. Fingers traced lines into each other's skin. Protection was deftly slipped on and hips sunk into each other. Even the release was somehow both gentle and satisfying.

When he pulled himself out of bed to clean up, I too rose to put my clothes on. He noticed and called back to me right before leaving his room.

"If you'd rather sleep in something more comfortable, you can rummage through the third drawer of my dresser. I keep t-shirts in there."

Oh. Sleep? I assumed I would just leave right after. Wasn't that how it worked? Though, he was sweet, and a little rest couldn't hurt. I picked up my underwear from the floor and slipped into them. Then, I pulled open the mentioned drawer of his dresser and tugged out the first t-shirt I felt. He came back in, dressed in boxers, just as I was pulling my hair out from the neck of his shirt.

He walked towards me, pulled the drawer back open, and grabbed another shirt. My eyes were level with his neck, but as he stretched to pull the shirt on, they traveled down to his chest and rested on two scars. One was circular in nature, an imperfect oval, just below his heart. The other was long, an incision line that wrapped around his rib cage. I wondered how I'd missed them earlier, but they were out of sight in an instant as the fabric of his shirt fell down his torso.

Theo walked over to the lamp on his desk, emitting the smallest glow of light in the room, and turned it off. Plunged into darkness, my hands searched around for something to guide me to his bed before I felt his hand grab mine. He pulled me into him and draped a comforter over us. I let myself accept his arms around me. I let myself relish the idea of someone holding me; I knew it'd only be for a few hours at most. I allowed myself to drift into a light sleep in his bed, thoughts of what if? circling like vultures.

***

A dusty haze began to fill his room as the first inklings of the rising sun broke through the curtains. That was my cue.

My eyes searched his room for a clock until they fell on small red LED lights that told me it was just after five in the morning. I peeled off the covers and his t-shirt. My clothing was piled by the door to his room, so I folded his shirt and left it on his desk before slipping back into my clothes and shoes. My purse lay propped next to where my clothing had been, and the first thing I grabbed out of it was my cell. Once the call to the cab was placed, I opened his door quietly, like a child sneaking out of her room so as to not wake mom and dad. The springs of his mattress creaked, and I froze. But he just turned over and kept sleeping.

Once in the hallway, I listened for any signs of either of his brothers being awake. When I felt like I was in the clear, I made my way down the steps and out the front door with as little sound as possible.

When I got into my cab, I made an effort to pull my hair into something halfway decent and clean up the eyeliner and mascara smudged beneath my eyes. The one drawback to living on a college campus was that it was unlikely that a walk of shame would go unnoticed.

As I drove farther and farther from Theo's house, I thought about how perfect the night had been. Really, as far as one night stands go, I'd have to guess that it had been a pretty ideal experience. Theo was great, and if I was in the position to start a relationship, he'd be a great contender. But I was technically still married. And until I could get myself back down to Savannah to finish the process and kiss every aspect of my old life goodbye, I knew there was no way it could ever work.

A/N: Hi!

I know this was super long, but I had a lot of background to build for you!

I hope you enjoyed this new piece I'm working on. I'm beyond excited about it! Please vote and comment and spread the word about this new novel!! You know how much I love to chat with you ☺️

Next chapter will be from Theo's point of view :)

Also, I'm on Instagram as novels_and_coffee! I mainly post poetry and little snippets of my life outside of Wattpad. Come say hi! 🙋

For now, what do you think? Never be afraid to be honest with me! Love you all very much ❤️

-L

Ps. Due to the nature of Jules' career, there will be discussion of mental health topics (depression, suicide, etc.) in some chapters. I will give you a trigger warning for any chapters dealing with heavy emotional topics. ❤️

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