Page 159 of A Little Crush
I smack his shoulder. “Hey!”
“Mav, will you check on AJ?” Ophelia interrupts. “He thinks he’s a big boy and wants to keep up with everyone, but?—”
“I got it, Goose.” Leaning in, my brother gives Ophelia a quick kiss, then traipses into the backyard. “Hear that, AJ?” he says, addressing his little boy, Archer Junior. “No climbing on the treehouse without daddy’s help, all right, buddy?”
Pax and Tatum walk in next, each of them balancing a toddler in one arm and a side dish in the other.
“Tater Tot!” I call.
My best friend swoops in for a side hug, careful not to bump our pregnant bellies together like a pair of cymbals. “Get over here, Lia!” she yells to her sister. “Pregnant ladies unite!”
Squeezing through the crowded kitchen, Ophelia wraps her arms around us, already munching on a cookie while creating a small, bumbling circle of pregnant ladies, as everyone else catches up around us.
And it’s so…surreal. I’m still not sure how I got so lucky. How I wound up with this life. With these babies. And this husband. And this family. And these friends. And this house. Iteven has a white picket fence and a treehouse in the back, just like I dreamed about. Don’t get me wrong. It's far from perfect, and I still have OCD. I also know Hades won’t be around forever, and Jaxon didn’t get that billion-dollar raise he joked about, despite earning his upgraded status of son-in-law after marrying the owner’s daughter. But life doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth living. It’s allowed to have its ups and downs, as long as you surround yourself with people who are willing to take the ride with you.
We’re happy. I’m happy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
HIJACKED EPILOGUE
VIOLET
Meanwhile…back in Harden Heights
I’m going to kill him. And not just metaphorically. I mean it in a very literal sense. Like with a knife or a pillow when he’s drunk off his ass or… Okay, that’s a lie. I do mean it in a very metaphorical sense, but only because I’d never survive prison. I might be scrappy and used to dealing with shit, but I’m pretty sure my hypothetical cellmate could still snap me like a twig. I digress. This time? This time, my dad crossed the line.
Squaring my shoulders, I march up the steps to the Harden Estate, trying to squash my interest as I take in the massive property in all its opulent glory. Why? Because, despite knowing what a rare occasion it is to be invited here, now isnotthe time.
Yeah, the Harden boys are known for throwing pretty epic parties, but not here. Never here. Or at least, rarely. Usually, they host parties on the beach or in an abandoned warehouse in The Drift or, well, anywhere really. But here? I wipe my sweaty palms against my thighs and lift my chin an inch higher in hopes of looking like I belong on the premises, though I doubt I’m successful. It probably would’ve helped if I’d changed out of my threadbare T-shirt and jeans before I left, but I was too pissed to care. Then again, even if I had thrown on the most expensive dress I’ve found while thrifting, it’s not like it would help. Nope. I swear the rich can smell poverty like a shark can smell blood in water. The knot in my stomach tightens.
A man with arms the size of tree trunks stands at the twelve-foot tall door. Tattoos swirl along his biceps, making him look even more intimidating thanbeforeI noticed the skull and crossbones etched into his dark skin. Speaking of being able to snap me like a twig.
Keep moving, I silently remind myself.
I hang near a group of sorority girls and follow the flock inside, nearly running into a bombshell brunette when she stops at the last second.
“Benji?” She grabs the doorman’s forearm and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t usually play security guard.”
“Paulson had to step away for a minute,” he returns. “Gotta keep an eye on things.”
Grateful for the distraction, I don’t bother sticking around to hear the brunette’s response as I step into the huge house. It’s packed, and looks straight out of a magazine. I don’t know, I almost expected the place to feel sterile, but this? Warm hardwood. Custom casing along the walls. Gold and brass fixtures. Large, custom artwork expertly placed throughout. I’m pretty sure my entire home could fit in the entryway and there would still be room for the unlit fireplace tucked further inside. It is beautiful, though. Dark and moody and provocative. Just like the owners. The interior designer must’ve made a fortune on this place.
Not the time, Violet, I silently remind myself.
I shake my head and slip around a couple making out at the base of the stairs. Weed, alcohol, sweat, and perfume mingle in the air like a fog. A thick, dizzying fog. My nose wrinkles. I’m late. If I wasn’t, my dad would still be here, paying off his debt after making yet another bad wager on the evening’s festivities.
Asshole.
At least the party hasn’t ended yet. The question is, where do I go from here? It’s not like I have a plan. I have a bone to pick, sure. But a plan? An actual, tangible plan with an A, B, and C beside it? Nope. Nada. I bite the inside of my bottom lip and search the huge area for one of the Harden boys or, at the very least, their right-hand man, Roman, though I really don’t know who I’d prefer to approach less. None of them is what I’d call a safe option.
Actually, none of them are safe, in general, if the rumors hold even an ounce of truth. I shove the flood of examples aside, well aware it’ll only make me want to hightail it out of here even more. In another life, maybe I would. Maybe I’d be able to go home and watch a show with some popcorn, my worries long behind me. But I don’t have any other options. Not really. Not if I want to get the hell out of The Drift instead of being swallowed by it like my mom was.
I force another round of oxygen into my lungs, praying it’ll calm my nerves when my body jerks forward. Looking over my shoulder, I find a strange guy with dark hair—aka the culprit who ran into me.
“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes.
“It’s—” I clench my fists, so amped up I’m afraid I might actually yell at the guy for an honest mistake. Letting out a slow breath, I soften my voice. “It’s fine.”
“You sure?” His brows dip. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
