Everett

Being the product of wealthy parents isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, I can buy whatever I want with my hefty trust fund, and I probably won't ever have to worry about going without, but for the most part, having a rich family can be...lonely.

With a dad as a professional football player and a mom who's a prestigious doctor, my childhood was spent with our nanny throughout the day, and on the rare occasions that my parents could be with my siblings and me altogether, it wasn't long-lived. I spent time with my father two months out of the year, and the rest of the time, it was video calls with bad service or quick five-minute phone calls before he went out on the field. And my mother was rarely home. If she was home, she'd be in the library researching to help her patients, or she'd be too worried about her patients that it left little time to make room for us.

There wasn't ever a doubt in my mind that my parents did love my siblings and me. They cared for us more than anything in the world, but their careers required a lot from them, and my siblings and I never wanted to get in the middle of that. It was admirable to see their work ethic, but in return, I dealt with most of my problems myself, and it affected me more than I cared to admit.

As I dig the keys to my apartment out of the pocket of my jeans, my phone starts to ring. The weather in Los Angeles in January can be hit or miss; today, it's frigid. I clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering like a little bitch, my hands fumbling with the keys as I press the phone between my ear and shoulder. "What?" I grunt, not caring who's on the receiving end.

"Jesus. Is there ever a day when you're not a miserable sack of shit?" Liam, my best friend since elementary school, has never had a problem calling me out on my moods.

"It's cold as fuck," I reply defensively. When the door to my townhouse opens, I'm thankful to be surrounded by warmth. My father bought this place for me as soon as I got into UCLA for graphic design. It was more than likely an attempt to redeem himself from all the years he wasn't there for me. Since he retired from football during my freshman year of high school, he's been trying to repair our relationship. Although it's improving, he doesn't understand that I don't need gifts to mend it. I've had gifts my entire life, and they've never helped the emptiness I feel.

Although I have to admit, this place is pretty sick. It's right in the middle of downtown, less than ten minutes from campus, and it's one of those buildings that's old but modern at the same time. The interior has weathered red brick walls and pristine wood flooring, but the kitchen is all stainless steel with black granite countertops and red accents. My decor consists of nothing but red and black purely because it reflects the brooding and miserable personality I can't seem to get rid of. High ceilings with skylights have rays of sunlight beaming down in the living room.

I take the spiral staircase to the left of the open-concept space up to the hallway and into my bedroom, tossing my phone down on my bed and my body along with it. "How was your winter break?" Liam asks.

"Fine. My parents wanted to take a trip to Aspen, so I spent Christmas there with them, my siblings, and Mason." The trip was the most fun I've had since starting college. Skiing is one of my favorite activities, and Mason has become a close friend since he started dating my sister. They've been inseparable ever since their senior year of high school, so none of my family was surprised when he proposed to her in Aspen. We were eating together as a family at one of the fanciest restaurants the resort had, and he got down on one knee in front of a raging fireplace and roses scattered at her feet. Of course, my sister said yes without a second thought, and now there was a sense of relief that Mason would officially be part of the family. Izzy had never been one to be tied down before she met him, so there was always a slight fear she'd change her mind, but thankfully, Mason isn't going anywhere.

"That sounds sick. Did you get anything good for Christmas?"

Usually, I wouldn't brag about the gifts I received, but Liam's father owns half of the real estate downtown. He's likely the richest kid in all of Los Angeles, so it's not like he'd judge me. Liam has never judged me. For anything. He's always accepted every part of me—even when I can't seem to get out of my random funks of misery.

"I got a Bugatti," I tell him with a smile tugging at my lips.

"No fucking way, bro! Are you kidding me? As soon as I come back this summer, I'm taking it for a test drive. I don't care what you say." Liam had never liked Los Angeles. Despite being the richest kid, he hated the fame and pretentious people that surrounded him. As soon as he graduated high school, he went as far away as he could for college. Now he's in Wyoming in the middle of the mountains, and the change of scenery has done wonders for him. I've never seen him so happy.

Maybe I should have gone to Wyoming, too.

"Since you were in Aspen, I couldn't give you your gift. I'll have to mail it to you."

"You got me a gift? Since when have we gotten each other gifts? I didn't get you anything." Rising from the bed, I take my jeans and Balenciaga hoodie off to change into a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. There's silence on the other end of the phone, which can only mean one thing: Liam is about to ask me for a favor. I know my best friend well enough. "What?" I groan.

"Do you remember when I helped you for hours in the middle of the summer to move you into your house? Or when I stayed up until three in the morning our junior year to help you write your history paper?"

"Just ask it," I say. "Out with it, Liam."

He lets out a deep breath. "Okay, well, Emery is—"

"No. Nope. Not going to happen." Anything to do with his ex-girlfriend is an automatic pass from me. That woman has always been the bane of my existence. I was thrilled when they broke things off before we all graduated. He was going to Wyoming, and she was remaining here in LA. It was a mutual agreement from both parties to end the relationship, but that was supposed to be the end of it. I had accepted the fact that I'd never have to see her face again, no matter how much that face of hers still seemed to haunt me at night.

"Hear me out. Please, Everett."

I grunt, irritated that now all I can think about is Emery. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Look, she needs a place to stay, and I know you've got a guest room. She's been struggling financially, and last night she got evicted from her place. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but you know my dad didn't like her and never exactly approved of us. He keeps tabs on all of my accounts, so he'd know if I paid for her to stay somewhere. It would just be until she's able to get back on her feet. Consider this your Christmas present to me."

Fucking hell. Of course, his one request would be one I couldn't refuse. Even though Emery pisses me off to no end and gets under my skin in a way that no one else can, I've always respected that she's worked for every single this she has. She lost both of her parents at a young age, and her grandmother took her in to help raise her. The only reason she attended our rich and uppity high school was because she got a full-ride scholarship from being incredibly smart, which led to her getting a tuition scholarship to UCLA. It bothered me enough that she went to the same school as me, but thankfully, our paths have never crossed. Her grandmother passed away right after we all graduated high school, leaving her to fend for herself. After Liam and her split, I hadn't heard a lot of details about her life, fighting the stupid, incessant need I felt to ask.

The constant fucking urge I've felt to check in on her is a feeling I've been trying to push away tooth and nail for years. Ever since goddamn middle school.

"Everett?" He asks. "Are you still there?"

I sigh. "Yeah. I'm here."

"I know you guys have never gotten along, and I know it's a huge ask, but you know as well as I do that if she had another option, she wouldn't even consider your guest room."

"You already asked her? She agreed?"

Christ. If I could just pay for her to live in an apartment, I would. Unfortunately, my father is the same as Liam's and has vowed to keep tabs on all of my spending habits until I'm done with school. Big and fancy gifts are okay if he is the one who purchases them, thus the Bugatti, but both of my parents have always raised me to be responsible with my money, and he would question those charges. Charges I certainly wouldn't want to explain.

"I told her I'd talk to you about it and make sure it was okay. I wasn't going to bring this to you if it wasn't alright with her first and raise your blood pressure for nothing. She has nowhere else to go, man, and although we're broken up, I'm always going to care for her."

Sitting back on my bed, I let out a string of cuss words, knowing I'm about to give in and quite possibly make the worst mistake of my life. "You know I'm not going to let her live on the streets, Liam, but she better not leave her bras and panties out to dry in the laundry room or some shit."

He lets out a loud laugh. "Noted. Wouldn't want your hook-ups of the week to think you're taken."

Ha. I almost want to laugh at how naive he is. At how good of an actor I've been since we were kids. The truth is, as much as Emery annoys me, as much as she gets under my skin, I've thought about nothing for the past eight years than what that woman wears underneath her clothes, and if I physically see them? I'll be done for.

"You owe me," I tell him. "Big time."

***

Three hours later, Emery Clark is standing on the other side of my door, and even after not seeing her for three years since we've been out of high school, it's like nothing has changed. That energy between us—that sizzling, burning fire of fucking hatred still lingers.

I hate the way my body reacts toward her. I despise the natural instinct to pull her into my chest because of how broken she looks. Her long, brown hair with caramel highlights is wrapped up into a messy bun on top of her head. She's in leggings and an oversized sweater that hangs off of one shoulder, exposing her silky, tan skin. But her eyes... Her eyes have always been the way into her soul. They're red and puffy from crying, and that spark that used to light up every room she stepped into is gone. There are two duffel bags at her feet, her only belongings, and a small part of my heart breaks at the sight.

My lack of emotions... All of my brooding and misery... She's always been able to pierce right through them.

"Everett." She dips her chin, fighting her pride. We're used to insulting each other and spewing hateful comments to see who can get under each other's skin more, but I won't do that. Not today. Not when she looks like she's about to fall apart at any given second.

I lean over to grab the duffel bags for her, ignoring her eyes that grow wide from my helpful gesture. "Follow me," I mutter, and the entire way upstairs, as I lead her into the room that is directly across from mine, I can't help but wonder what the actual fuck I've gotten myself into.