Page 4 of One Night Rebellion
Gone is the girl with braces and pigtails I remember. In her place stands a woman—curves in all the right places, long dark hair, and eyes that seem to see right through me. She's wearing jeans that hug her hips and a soft T-shirt that does nothing to hide the fact that she's definitely not a little girl anymore.
"Mal, can I borrow the truck?" she asks, then notices me. "Oh. Hey, JT."
Her voice is different than last night too—lower, with a hint of smokiness that goes straight to parts of me I shouldn't be thinking about when looking at my friend's sister.
"Hey, Addie." I manage to keep my voice steady, but barely.
"What's wrong with your car?" Malcolm asks. He doesn’t mention that we probably shouldn’t know who each other is.
"It decided to die on me last night on Highway 9. Lucky for me, someone was kind enough to stop and help." She glances at me, and there's something in her expression that causes my heart to beat a little faster.
"Wait," Malcolm says, looking between us. "You two...?"
"JT gave me a ride," Addie explains. "My car broke down, and he happened to be driving by."
Malcolm laughs, shaking his head. "Thank God it was JT and not some random guy who might notice you're an adult now."
If only he knew that I'm very much noticing she's an adult. In fact, it's taking every ounce of self-control I have not to stare at the way her T-shirt clings to her chest, or how her jeans showcase legs that seem to go on forever. The Addie I rememberwas all knobby knees and scraped elbows. This Addie... this Addie is trouble.
"The truck keys are on my desk," Malcolm tells her. "Try not to put any dents in it."
"I make no promises," she says with a grin that's pure mischief. Then she turns to me. "You should stop by Rusty's Bar and Grill sometime. I work there—bartending mostly now. I’m giving up the waitressing part since I start my big girl job on Monday."
"Big girl job?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Marketing coordinator for the tourism bureau. Got a shiny new degree, and I’m going to put it to good use." There's pride in her voice, and something else—determination.
"That's great, Addie. Really."
"Thanks. But like I said, I'll still be bartending evenings and weekends. Need to save up for a new car now." She winks at me, and my stomach does something that definitely shouldn't happen when looking at your best friend's little sister. "Come by and I'll make sure you get a couple drinks on the house."
With that, she saunters past us, and I can't help but watch the sway of her hips. When I turn back, Malcolm is looking at me with raised eyebrows.
"Earth to JT," he says. "You ready to go house hunting?"
"Yeah." I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. "Let's do this."
But as we head toward his car, I can't shake the image of Addie Hartford—grown-up, confident, and dangerous in ways that could complicate my plans to settle back into my quiet hometown life.
This is going to be a problem.
3
Addie
JT looked good. Better than good truthfully. Like I knew, objectively, that he did. Even in the dim light last night, that had been obvious. But in the bright light of day, standing in the middle of Malcolm’s office? That was a whole other thing. It felt kind of like going back in time. The two of them side by side, JT looking like a god and my big brother standing there—the living embodiment of all the reasons it was never going to happen. Too big an age gap. My brother’s best friend. Oh, and my P.O.S. bio-dad tried to kill his—fuck if I know what to call Troy James now. That whole family dynamic is weird as hell, but somehow they’re all making it work.
With the truck keys in hand, I head out to the parking lot and climb behind the wheel. I have to get to Rusty’s and finish my last shift as a waitress. I’ll be happy to put that gig behind me. Bartending is still peoply, but no one expects bartenders to be as nice as servers. Busy and rude are kind of requirements.
I don’t really like people all that much. It’s been hard as hell growing up in Bellehaven, under a microscope with people watching for any sign that I’m going to be the same kind oftrouble that anyone with Stevens’s genetic material tends to be. It was different for Malcolm. Being the basketball hero that he was had given him a kind of credibility that my own mediocrity at team sports or any extracurriculars could provide. So I was unknown to them. I coasted under the radar just enough for them to not know quite what to make of me. That’s probably still true.
I’d thought—hoped, I guess—that being formally adopted by Lucas and shaking off a last name that came with a metric ton of baggage attached to it would be enough, but I guess not. Then there was the mess with Derek. Getting involved with him was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I didn’t know about his drug problem. To be fair, no one knew about it. He was a high-functioning addict with enough family money to keep it hidden. But I looked like an idiot and I could see people looking at me in that knowing way.Apples don’t fall far from the tree. Blood tells.All that southern gothic bullshit like I’m somehow destined to be a homewrecker, an enabler, or a DV victim. And I get it. Historically, that’s what all the women who were born into or married into the Stevens family became. But people only get to break generational curses if other people are willing to let them move on from it.
Even getting hired on with the tourism board had practically taken an act of Congress. A lot of people had gone to bat for me on that one—Cody and Emma Willett among them. The good thing about that job is that it will be largely digital. Online campaigns, social media, placement in magazines that cater to certain sets. Bellehaven has several nice bed and breakfasts that have opened in the last few years. There’s a winery now and a small-batch bourbon distillery. Those are the elements I want to play up—the convenience of being dead in the middle of the Bourbon Trail. BothLexington and Louisville both just a short drive away,. Bellehaven offers the charm of a small town with allthe conveniences of city life still easily accessible. That is going to appeal to a lot of people.
I pull into the gravel lot of Rusty’s and the mental image of JT driving his pristine Mustang over dusty gravel prompts a slightly mean-spirited giggle. He’d be out there with a magnifying glass inspecting the paint job for even a hint of a scratch. He’s not going to be hanging at Rusty’s anytime soon, not unless Malcolm drives him. And the thing about my brother that is both impossibly sweet and incredibly gross is that he’s completely devoted to Rachel. He even turned down playoff tickets so he could propose to her on her birthday. That man was stone cold in love. Considering how much of a player he’d been in the day, that was saying something.
I walk into Rusty’s and brace myself for a demanding crowd. It’s a Friday and even though it’s a hole in the wall, it’s still a bit of a destination. Rusty’s, despite its lackluster exterior, has the best food in town. Seriously world-class burgers and fried chicken that people will drive hours out of their way for.
