Page 120 of Love at Second Down

I park in the circular driveway, right in front of the main entrance. No hiding my beat-up pickup around the corner like I used to. No sneaking through the garden entrance because her parents didn’t approve. Those days are gone.

Through the windshield, I watch the massive double doors, remembering how they had once felt like a barrier between two worlds—mine and Avery’s. I’d always been hyperaware of crossing that threshold, of finding my place in her life where I didn’t belong.

I cut the engine and sit for a moment, listening to the tick of the cooling metal. It’s been more than five months since the police arrested Reginald Astor on multiple charges of involuntary manslaughter, fraudulent misrepresentation, and forgery, with mass wrongful death suits pending his criminal trial this fall. If he’s convicted, he’s expected to get fifteen to thirty years in prison.

I don’t know how Avery or her family will handle everything if he’s convicted and sentenced. All I know is their lawyer ensured funds were put aside for Katie to secure her care. Worst case scenario, Reginald is found guilty, the Astor Hotel Group will be forced to liquidate, and her family will lose tens of million in lawsuits. As it so happens, their net worth is substantial enough, they won’t lose everything.

No matter what, Avery’s mother and sister will be okay.

As for Avery, I’ll be here for her, every step of the way.

I take a deep breath and step out of the truck. The late summer air feels thick with anticipation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming lilacs—Avery’s favorite.

As I approach the entrance, my heartbeat quickens. This visit is different. I’m not here to steal a few precious hours with her or to comfort her after another news story breaks about her father. I’m here to take her back to school where we’ll spend our last year in college together before our real lives start—before the draft and whatever our future holds.

Before my knuckles can make contact with the polished mahogany, the door flies open. A blur of honey-blonde hairand a white sun dress collides with me, nearly knocking me off balance.

Avery’s arms encircle my neck, her familiar sugared-almond scent enveloping me as completely as her embrace.

“There’s my girl,” I murmur into her hair.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for this day for forever,” she says against my neck, her voice catching slightly.

“Moving day,” I say with a grin, leaning back to drink her in.

She’s as beautiful as the day I met her, all long legs, freckled cheeks, sun-kissed skin, and shining hazel eyes.

“Ready?” she says, motioning toward the car.

“Should I say goodbye to Katie?” I ask, knowing goodbyes for her parents aren’t necessary. They aren’t my number one fans these days, especially her father, though I like to think her mother is coming around. The last time I saw her, she asked me how I was doing without choking over the words and we spent a whole ten minutes making small talk. Katie, on the other hand, is quickly becoming my little bestie.

Avery winces. “They’re not here.”

I nod slowly, catching her meaning without her saying it.

They didn’t want to see me, didn’t want to witness their daughter going off with the boy they blame for Reginald Astor’s current legal predicament.

“Right,” I say, for lack of anything better.

“My mother’s coming around.” She squeezes my hand. “And Katie loves you. She told me to give you a hug and that she expects you to FaceTime her once we’re back in Ann Arbor.”

“And your father?” I ask, unable to help myself.

Avery rolls her eyes. “My father barely says two words to me these days, and I couldn’t give a crap less what he thinks.”

It’s true. To say his relationship with Avery has been strained since she turned him in is an understatement. While she and her mother have never been super close, their relationship hasn’tchanged much, but when Reginald discovered it was Avery who turned him in, he went on a tirade before fleeing to their vacation home in the Hamptons, as if the law couldn’t find him there.

Shortly after, he was arrested and brought in and charged, and though he’s out on bail, when Avery returned home for the summer, he’d fled back to their summer home.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I know it’s not my fault.

“Well, I’m not.” She shrugs, her expression hardening. “He made his bed, and now he’s lying in it. Alone.”

“Let’s get your stuff loaded,” I say, changing the subject. “Where are your boxes?”

“In the foyer. I’ve been packing all week, ready to get the heck out of here.”

I peek behind her to find the marble-floored entryway stacked with cardboard boxes, designer suitcases, and a few plastic bins. It’s significantly more than she brought last year. I raise an eyebrow.

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