Chapter 3

Hallie

Bare feet met icy wooden floors. Any other day, this was annoying. It would wake me before I was ready. On this morning, I was wide awake before stepping out of the bed. There was little sleep had because of a certain roommate banging on his drum set all night. Not even my headphones could drown him out. I thought Mikah was finished around three in the morning, but he had only stopped to make mozzarella sticks. He didn't even offer me any.

I rushed across the room, knowing a warm shower would be the best way to start the day. Upon opening the door, it was not surprising to see the drum kit still blocking the way out. It was all the other furniture that had joined it that was the problem.

"Mikah!" I hollered, eying the maze of furniture preventing me from leaving my bedroom.

Every chair from the kitchen and living room, along with end tables and the coffee table, was intricately piled from floor to ceiling. There were even chairs brought up from the restaurant blocking my exit. My attempt at pulling a piece of the drum set shifted everything. He left me with a giant game of Jenga.

After calling out his name enough times to know I wasn't being ignored, I figured Mikah had left the apartment. I gave in and called the only other person I could. Ollie—being the workaholic he was—admitted to being in the kitchen below my feet and vowed to free me as soon as he could. That meant Mikah was not at the bar either. He couldn't be in his room at the hall's end; he'd be trapped, too. Either he'd slept on the couch or hadn't slept in the apartment.

Knowing there was no way to make it to nursing clinicals on time, I gave up on the shower. I changed into my white uniform and donned my name badge, with student in large capital letters along its lanyard. My long blonde hair was piled high on my head with a navy headband to pull any stray hairs out of my face—one that matched the tiny, jeweled stud in my right nostril. The look was complete with a pair of the most hideous, solid-white and slip-resistant sneakers no one could pull off fashionably. The same uniform day after day was boring. At least when working at the nursing home, CNAs had the option of what scrubs they wanted to wear. The only part of this ensemble that could change was the headband.

While I waited for my savior, I packed my books, a pocket drug dictionary, and a phone charger. That's when I noticed I had missed a call in the haste to get ready. The name Jodi Reynolds joined a notification of a voice mail. My adoptive mother—although the word mother was rarely used—became a parental figure in my life at fifteen years old. After spending that long in foster care, calling two complete strangers Mom and Dad seemed wrong. Jodi and Maverick, Rick for short, were the only names I used. It seemed too late to change that tradition now, and honestly, I had no desire to.

Sniffles began the voice message. It's me, honey, Jodi began. He, uh... he left again. Rick didn't come home last night. The credit card shows a hotel bill on your side of town. Has he called you?

I bit my cheek and deleted the message. Their marital issues were nothing new. The last thing today needed was their relationship problems piled on top. Rick had not called, and that meant it was only a matter of time before he would. With the sound of the apartment door opening, I dove to my nightstand, where I kept my Ativan. They weren't needed often. Only the times when my stomach was tangled into tight, unrelenting knots.

"Hal?" Ollie called out. I could already hear him disassembling the pile of furniture.

I swallowed two half-milligram tablets and washed them down with a bottle of water from the same bedside table. "I'm here," I said.

Where else would I be? The entire reason I was in this apartment right now was because of his idiotic brother.

It took about fifteen minutes before Ollie Mulligan appeared, wearing his chef's jacket from being pulled away from his work. It took a few minutes more before there was enough space for me to escape. We were about tied for the number of times we'd cursed Mikah's name. He'd stolen ten chairs from the restaurant's banquet room to keep me trapped.

"Thank you," I said, after using the bathroom for the first time all night.

Ollie nodded, but there was a hesitation I knew was coming. Perhaps there was one other person I could have called, but that was too far out of the question this week.

"You know," Ollie said, stacking the chairs to take with him. "Sloan is downstairs."

"Yup."

"Hallie..."

"You won't understand." I lifted a finger to halt whatever pleading he was about to attempt. "That promise was important. She could have at least told me she was thinking about taking one of those DNA tests."

"I didn't know either." He shrugged. "It came out of nowhere. She's not herself, and it's scaring the shit out of me. You need to go down there and end whatever this little feud is between the two of you. Two days has been more than enough. I can't handle bridezilla any longer."

Bridezilla and Sloan were two words that should never be said in the same sentence. Sloan Smith was as easy-going of a bride as there could be. There wasn't anything to stress over. Almost all the planning had been done online through the travel agency. All we had to do was board a plane and drink until our asses landed on an already prepared beach.

"Please?" Ollie said, begging. "She wants to tell you about her dad, and she's been crying because the two of you aren't speaking. I haven't even told her about whatever this shit show is." His arm waved toward the hallway of furniture. "Which brings me to another problem. You and Mikah need to resolve this."

My arms crossed. "I'll stop when Mikah does. I'll talk to Sloan during the dress fitting, but that does not mean I'm not pissed about her going behind my back."

"She didn't," he argued. "What is so wrong with her wanting to know where she came from?"

"Because we don't have families." My voice raised higher. "And now she does!"

His eyebrows lifted to question my statement. It was not an argument Ollie wanted to start. He wouldn't win. I had never felt betrayed by Sloan until now. Just because I had been adopted did not make our scenarios different. Not once did Sloan mention wanting to find her parents; same as me. The thought was always there, obviously. Being abandoned on a stranger's doorstep in the middle of winter was a reminder that the thought needed to end there. Neither of us held memories of our biological families and had always held bitter feelings towards the ones who gave us away... or so I thought.

"It was a decision we were supposed to make together." There was a sting in my eyes, threatening tears. "I can't believe she did it. Has she spoken to him yet?"

Ollie's sympathetic sigh was a definite yes. The anxiety in my stomach returned. That was it, then. Sloan was no longer an orphan, and I was. The one special bond we'd held all these years was now over. My friend was about to have all the answers to every question she had about being abandoned. She'd know if she has siblings or any other family that missed her. And Sloan didn't even think to tell her best friend before doing it.

"He's coming to the wedding."

My eyes rolled. "Of course he is."

>><<

Note cards littered the apartment floor along with textbooks, a bottle of wine, and a wineglass. Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead played in the background, covering the noisiness of the restaurant below. I strolled past Mikah's bar, acting as if this morning's antics hadn't riled me up. He likely knew by now that Ollie had to break me out of the apartment.

The day got progressively worse from there.

While walking the hospital halls with a patient, I spaced—overthinking the vibrating phone in my pocket and how Sloan now had a biological father. I wasn't sure how many times I'd made the patient lap the hallway, but the guy was practically in tears when he asked if we could stop. In better news, his total knee replacement appeared to be a success.

The phone that was still tucked in the pocket of my uniform jacket buzzed again. Instead of retrieving it, I took another long sip of wine, shifting my attention back to the anatomy and physiology book. The endocrine system needed to be the focus this evening, along with a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

When the door of the apartment opened, the smell of a night spent in a bar entered with Mikah. It reminded me of every hangover I'd experienced. It was that red bull and Jägermeister smell you can't get out of your nose after a night of partying. As bad as it was, I was wishing for a night like that right now.

"You've escaped." Mikah beamed on his walk to the kitchen. "How long did it take Sloan to free you?"

"Ollie released me just in time to not miss clinicals, ass." I didn't look up from the textbook as I made another notecard. "I'm surprised he didn't rip you a new one."

"He was too busy by the time I got there."

Mikah returned to the living room with a large glass of milk and a cold slice of leftover pepperoni pizza. I glanced up briefly to see he looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes, matching the all-black clothing he always wore while bartending. If he swapped the black dress shirt for some plaid, he and his brother could have been twins. I didn't hate the rolled shirt sleeves and the way they showcased his forearms. It was a shame his obnoxious mouth ruined them.

"Did you sleep here?" I asked, removing my stare from Mikah's stupid arms to label the pancreas and its primary functions.

"Yeah."

"Where?"

He fell quiet. Looking up again, I thought I'd find him with a mouth filled with food. Instead, I found a pair of eyes questioning me back. "What does it matter?"

I shrugged. It didn't matter. I just wondered how—if he'd slept in his room—he'd gotten through the maze of instruments and furniture. In rare Mikah form, the kitchen sink was empty; the TV was off, and the living room couch remained filled with throw pillows—the same pillows that were tossed every direction anytime Mikah wanted to sit there.

I need to get laid.

I was now convinced Mikah had gotten some two nights in a row. After the dragon prank, I was even more certain it was two different women. It had been months since I'd gotten any, and he was getting it multiple times a week. To be fair, I hadn't been trying very hard. School and work life were making a sex life difficult.

"No late-night call from the BFF?" Mikah asked before taking a sip of milk. "Usually you've disappeared to your room by now."

"To avoid you," I muttered, sorting note cards by chapter. "And no. She's the last one I'd call. I'm guessing the reason you are even speaking to me right now is because she asked you to."

His head tilted. "She may have asked me to gauge your anger."

"Call it like you see it."

"Right."

"What about her?" I asked, reminded of what Ollie had mentioned earlier. "Was she a bridezilla tonight?"

"Perhaps you should have gone down to the restaurant and asked."

Not an option. The look I sent Mikah told him just that. He took the last bite of his pizza and shook his head, disappearing into the kitchen where the noise of a glass being placed into the sink soon followed.

Picky about his bar? Yeah right. If Sloan was correct, this was just another prank to piss me off. And it was working.

"Answer your damn phone." Mikah lifted the jacket I'd worn all day from the couch and gave it a toss to my lap. "The buzzing is annoying."

He refrained from leaving his spot, leading me to believe Mikah's plan was to listen in on the conversation. Judging by the time, it was probably Sloan calling. I narrowed my stare at him, hugging the jacket and waiting for him to walk off to his room for the night. It took a minute before the hint was taken and he disappeared into the hall.

Among many email notifications, there were two missed calls from Sloan—although she wasn't the one currently calling. It never failed... no matter how much I didn't want to be in the middle of whatever their issue was, I was always put there. My thumb crossed the screen, answering the call I'd sworn to avoid.

"Rick,"—I pressed the phone to my ear—"I have a lot of homework. Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Did she call you already?"

"She left me a message alerting me you'd run off again. What is it this time?"

He sighed. "Same old shit."

Well, that I already assumed.

Get adopted, they said. It will be fun, they said. Maybe for everyone else, but not for me. Jodi and Rick Reynolds adopted to save their marriage—landing themselves me—a rebellious teenager. They never hid their marriage problems. The two avoided each other more than they were together. I felt like the only orphan ever to wish for a broken family. A divorce would have been better than the constant fighting. Instead, they adopted again—after I'd turned eighteen and moved out the first chance I could. My sister was more of an acquaintance than an actual sibling.

"Well, she knows where you're at. Ditch the joint credit card or go home." I ended the call.

Annoyed with myself for answering, I leaned my back into the side of the leather couch. Studying anymore tonight seemed impossible. Tomorrow morning was going to be the only time left before the test at eleven. A crunch session wasn't the best option, but it was all there was time for. Now I had the night free to finish my wine and scroll through the emails I'd missed, finding that most came from the website I'd purchased the dragon sex toy from.

This review has me dying!

I'm living for this chick's reviews. This isn't the first I've seen, and I'm hoping it's not the last!

I continued to scroll, smiling with the responses to my review, while slightly embarrassed.

I have to know! Did you try it?

What toys do you suggest?

You should write a blog reviewing these things! I'd read it! Hell, I'd pay to read it!

I paused the scrolling. A blog? I wondered. Like... a blog about sex toys?

That seemed stupid. Reviewing from the website where I'd purchased the toy was one thing. Discussing my lonely orgasms in detail to complete strangers would be another. This wasn't like cooking up a casserole, writing ingredients, and saying the whole family enjoyed it. One person would enjoy it. Or possibly not enjoy it, as it sometimes happened.

Who was I kidding? I felt silly for even thinking that writing a blog would be fun. No one would want to take advice from a girl who had no time or energy to get laid. My sexual bucket list was going nowhere other than the toys hidden in the closet of my bedroom. The best way I found to destress was getting off. If Mikah hadn't had been home, I would have been rummaging through the plastic drawers, trying to choose which one would be my suitor for the night. Without even trying, my roommate had a way of always ruining my night.

"God dammit!" Mikah's anger boomed from the bathroom, as if knowing he was being cursed in my mind. "Hallie!"

I bit my smile before finishing my glass of wine. I mentally thanked Ollie for the tip. It sounded like that plastic wrap on the toilet seat prank worked wonders.