Текст книги "Becoming His"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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His Series, Book One

Books by Mariah Dietz

His Series

Becoming His

Losing Her (coming March 1, 2015)

For my boys, who remind me every day that anything is possible,

and everything should be tried.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. My quiet strides are the only sounds I can hear aside from the music pouring softly through my ear buds. Along with the exertion of my muscles, it helps to make me feel nearly euphoric. Some people meditate to find peace and tranquility, me– I run.

Rounding the corner, I take a deep breath of the already warm morning air and my eyes focus on a growing shadow. Slowing my pace, I look up and see a guy in his early twenties, standing around six feet, with sandy blond hair sticking out in an organized disarray. He’s fairly muscular in black mesh shorts and a bright green cut-off T-shirt. After a quick glance, it’s obvious he works out a decent amount … that or he’s a juicer. It’s always a viable possibility here in Southern California, even in the small town my parents live in.

His mouth moves as I come to a stop, careful to maintain a ten-foot gap between us before I pull an ear bud free.

“Sorry?” I ask, noticing his raised eyebrows over eyes which are the very definition of hazel with dark blue edges that lighten to green and darken to a soft amber.

The small smile on his lips spreads. “I said you must be Ace.” My head tilts slightly as I give him a once-over, trying to recall if I know him. I’ve been gone all year for college, but I returned home nearly every weekend and don’t recognize this guy.

“Must be?” I silently wish I’d brought my family’s Newfoundland, Zeus, with me—not that he’d do anything more than possibly lick him to death. Still, his one hundred and seventy-five pounds usually serves as a pretty good deterrent to most.

The guy’s smile grows even wider, making a small, jagged scar that runs through the edge of his bottom lip and stops midway to his chin more prominent. He doesn’t exactly scream axe murderer, but I’m guessing that most don’t. He takes a step closer and my eyes quickly flit around the empty park surrounding us as my fingers roll my freed ear bud.

“Sorry, my name’s Jameson, Jameson West …” he says, obviously sensing my unease. “Sharon told me about you girls. You’re a Bosse, right? She told me you’re one of five.” Round, surprised eyes await my confirmation.

I stare at him, waiting for what always comes when someone learns that I have four sisters—the same trademark comments and questions. Had they been trying for a son? No. Do you girls fight all the time? Not really. Do you all look alike? We don’t, other than having our mother’s blond hair and being built fairly similarly.

The questions don’t come. Instead, awkwardness taints the air between us as I wonder how he knows Sharon.

“She said you’re all blond,” he adds, breaking the silence and lifting a hand to his own hair, as if he’s translating the words for me. “That’s what gave you away.”

Sharon’s our next door neighbor and my mom’s best friend. She and her three sons have lived beside us for nearly ten years now. She also works at Saint Andrews with my father where they’re both thoracic surgeons. Sharon specializes with lungs, and my father, the heart. My dad, who’s worked with her on multiple occasions over the years, built a solid professional relationship, but my mom and Sharon didn’t really become friends until the last couple of years when her youngest son Max moved away.

They started a book club and began playing Bunco with a group of women, which evolved into spending most of their free time together with a bottle of wine … or two, accompanied by lots of giggling and gossiping. The reality that we never really outgrow this behavior both relieves and concerns me greatly.

My eyebrows rise, wondering just how much Sharon told him about me. “At least half of Southern California is blond.”

His smile turns playful, “Mr. Janes also told me you’d be down here when I left this morning. Told me I should watch out for you because it’s not safe to be running alone.” He turns his head, making a point of looking around the empty field.

Does he know all my neighbors?

“I’m Max’s friend.” He takes another step, bridging what’s becoming a very small gap between us, and extends his hand to me.

“Nice to meet you.” His hand is rough with calluses extending from his fingers that touch the back of my hand. “Are you visiting Sharon alone?”

His eyes widen. “No,” he answers automatically. His ivory cheeks color with a faint blush as he shakes his head but keeps his smile in place. “No. I transferred down here with Max. We’re here for the summer until school starts.”

This surprises me. True, it’s my first full day back home after visiting my grandparents with my dad and sister in France for the past two weeks, but I’m shocked my mom didn’t mention Max returning. It isn’t like her at all.

“I met your mom yesterday. She mentioned you and your sister … Kylie?” His forehead creases as he offers her name, lacking confidence.

“Kendall.”

Jameson’s lips quirk in an apologetic grin as he nods. “Kendall, that’s right. She said you two would be able to show us around.” The brightness of his eyes tells me he’s teasing, but I’m certain his words hold truth. My mother is a southern debutante, born and raised in the great state of Texas—a nationality in of itself in her book. Being hospitable and polite is ingrained so deeply in her, she isn’t always aware of boundaries.

“Yeah, absolutely. We’d be happy to help in any way we can.” It’s also ingrained in us girls. Thanks, Mom.

He motions to the track with a nod. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I reply on instinct, even though I do mind. Running is something I prefer to do alone, or with Zeus.

I don’t bother turning my music back on as we begin at a slow jog. After a few laps, our pace increases, and the air is filled with the sound of our heavy breaths and feet echoing off the synthetic rubber.

Coming up on my house, I break free from our steady jog through the neighborhood. “I’ll see you around,” I huff. Generally I walk home as my cool down period, but space is easily filled with talking when you walk, so I ensured the absence of conversation by pushing harder, making us both winded.

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon, Ace!”

The sun seeping through my shades reveals my older sister Kendall sprawled across my bed, fast asleep. Even at twenty-one she has a strong aversion to being alone for any length of time, so although she wasn’t here when I left a little over an hour ago, I’m not surprised to find her wrapped in my blankets.

I take a fast shower and dress before climbing in beside her and quickly finding sleep.

The familiar murmur of voices floating up the stairs clears the rest of my sleep. Kendall’s disappeared and the sun casts long shadows in my room from the one window I keep uncovered, mocking me for sleeping most of the day away.

I peel myself from the warmth of my bed and head toward the epicenter of voices. It’s Sunday, which means it’s family night at my parents’ house—a weekly tradition we rarely miss.

“Oh, you brought macaroons home. Daddy, I love you too!” I hear my sister Savannah sigh as I round the corner and see her engrossed with the large white box etched with elegant French script.

“Those are the chocolate hazelnut ones.” I point to the back corner of the box to indicate her favorite.

“Oh, Ace!” Savannah’s bright blue eyes shine with tears as she stands up and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. Pregnancy hormones have increased my second to oldest sister’s constant need for affection. “I’m so bummed I didn’t get to go with you guys! I want to hear all about it!” She pulls back and eyes that match our mother’s and sisters’ slowly scrutinize my face before lifting to my brown ones, concluding her brief assessment. I smile in assurance of whatever she seems to be seeking and run a hand across her belly.

“Babe, you’ve been to France how many times? Do you really think anything’s changed?” I look up to catch her husband, Caulder, approaching us with my other brother-in-law Kyle.

Kyle’s eyes widen as he nearly stumbles to break his stride and separates himself from Caulder, knowing from his own pregnancy experience that his question isn’t going to be well received.

Savannah’s eyes focus on Caulder in an icy glare. “I still want to hear about it, my family’s there.”

Caulder seems to realize his error as his brown eyes turn somber. “I’m sorry, babe, you’re right … and in a couple years when baby Alex is big enough, we’ll all go,” he says, placing a hand on Savannah’s six-month bump.

“More like Alexandra,” I tease, selecting a pink macaroon from the box.

“It’s a boy. He likes good music, riding in my truck, and he goes crazy when he hears motorcycles,” Caulder insists.

“Uh oh. Alexandra’s going to be into bad boys. You better be prepared,” I sing, winning a smile from Savannah and a scowl from Caulder.

“Y’all really should just find out, I’m tired of buying yellow.” My mom adds from where she and my dad are preparing things for dinner.

“I think Ace is right. I think it’s a girl,” Savannah says, looking down at her growing stomach in adoration.

I grin, gazing up at Caulder with a gloating expression that he returns with an eye roll. Caulder’s the newest member of our family. He and Savannah celebrated their second wedding anniversary just last month. He grew up with a sister himself; however there are days I can tell that having a single sister in no way prepared him for our estrogen-filled house.

Kendall had a difficult time understanding our older sister’s draw to Caulder initially. Savannah’s always been very sweet and soft spoken, with a strong draw to children that led her to teaching kindergarten. Caulder’s very serious, to the point of being almost stiff and awkward at times. However, I’d known from the moment I met Caulder that he and Savannah would be perfect for one another. They’re like yin and yang: Where she sees possibility, he sees risk; where she leans toward new ventures, he gravitates toward familiarity. But neither stifles the other; they balance each other.

“Is Abby coming tonight?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, she leaves Tuesday, so she’s staying the night,” I reply, finishing my macaroon off.

“We’ve got to get her to call you Ace. I still look around to see who in the hell she’s talking to when I hear her call you Harper,” Kyle says, prodding through the macaroons.

“It is my name.”

“But you’re Ace.” He looks up from the box with a hint of sadness in his eyes. He’s right. Prior to college I was always Ace. Even in school, teachers and parents alike called me Ace, just like my friends. Transitioning to Harper took some adjusting because the only time I used to hear it, it was accompanied by my middle name—Jo—generally following one of my few acts of rebellion.

I’ve known Kyle since I was six, providing him with a reason to be a little confused. My oldest sister Mindi had taken me to the park near our house with a couple of her friends as an excuse to watch the high school boys practicing football. I had quickly grown bored of the mundane task of sitting still and not bothering them, and eventually got distracted and left them in search of something entertaining. It didn’t take long before I couldn’t see Mindi, or the direction from which I’d travelled. I was crying and wandering aimlessly when Kyle found me. He took my hand and we set off to find Mindi with a trail of his bad jokes in our wake.

When we found her, she was so worked up, fearing something had happened to me she hadn’t even realized I was still gripping Kyle’s hand when she flung her arms around me. However, her stress seemed to dissipate faster than it should’ve once she did finally notice him. After that, I can hardly recall him not being around. They began dating the following week and he became a permanent fixture in our house and family albums, becoming like a brother to me and the rest of my sisters, and a son to my parents.

Kyle and I have always had a special connection, sharing a passion for running, soccer, and my family. Where Savannah is sweet, and probably too nice, Mindi has the tendency to be a bit dramatic, rivaling Kendall with being both bossy and loud. On top of that, she was born a perfectionist, something I’m intimately familiar with since it’s one of the few traits that I, too, received from our mom.

“Where’s Min and the girls?” I ask, noticing Savannah looking precariously close to tears again and realizing we need to make a U-turn out of memory lane.

“They’re at a birthday party. What four-year-old has their party at a nail salon?” he cries. “I mean seriously.”

“Mom!” Kendall yells, making both Kyle and I sink back a little further into the kitchen. Kendall’s well-known for needing her sleep, and her tone makes it apparent that she’s in need of more. “Have you seen my white skirt?”

“Kyle, the girls are here,” my mom announces as she shoves a bag of pink, heart-shaped marshmallows in my hands.

“She’s been cravin’ these, and she’s been in sort of a mood lately,” she says, giving me an intense look that serves as a warning. I raise my eyebrows and nod before following Kyle outside, hearing my mom yell a response to Kendall before the door closes behind us.

Mindi’s working to unlatch my three-year-old niece Jade from her car seat as I approach, allowing a large gap between us. Unlike Savannah, Mindi hates all physical contact while she’s pregnant.

“You need to stop wiggling! I don’t know why the sky’s blue. It just is. But right now, you need to stop wiggling!”

“Hey, Min,” I say, trying my best to sound friendly and undeterred by her obvious agitation.

“Auntie Ace!” Jade’s words sound like a song.

“Auntie Ace, can I go let Zeus out?” Mindi and Kyle’s oldest daughter, Emily, asks, hopping to a stop in front of me, her bright blue eyes round, shining with excitement.

“Yeah, I think he’s in the backyard.” Both girls race across the lawn, their blond hair dancing behind them. They shriek and giggle as my dad chases them to the back gate.

“Are those …”

I look to see Mindi staring at the bag of marshmallows I’m still holding. I don’t hesitate in presenting them to her. She snatches them and tears into the bag, instantly shoving two in her mouth before looking up at me. Her forehead relaxes, and her eyes close with a look of content.

“Thank you,” she garbles, covering her full mouth with her fingers.

A loud muffler rips through the air. Mindi and I turn to see a shiny black motorcycle pull into the driveway beside ours. “Who’s that? Is that Hank? Oh my god, I look so fat today! Please don’t let it be Hank.” Mindi’s voice is a plea as she sidesteps so that she’s mostly behind me.

“Max, welcome home, son! It’s good to see you.” My dad calls before the helmet fully reveals his face. Zeus shoves himself between Mindi and me, so I’m forced to take a step forward to catch my balance, and I hear a vaguely familiar voice.

“Hey, Mr. Bosse, it’s good to be home and feel some sun.”

A soft thump beside me diverts me attention, and I see Mindi’s bag of marshmallows lying on the grass between us. Zeus quickly inhales one that’s rolled beside him, and I move to grab the bag before he can get it. I straighten and reach forward to hand her what seconds ago seemed like her reason for breathing, to see that she’s completely oblivious, her focus transfixed next door.

“Dear lord, what do those boys drink? I want some.”

Max has been my neighbor since I was ten. He’s only two years older than me, the same age as Kendall, however, he’s never paid much attention to any of us Bosse girls. Kendall had made it her personal mission to bait him one summer, spending an exorbitant amount of time and energy thinking up ways to catch his attention. Me, being the youngest, and her partner in crime, had assisted in many of her missions, but he never did more than give us the briefest of acknowledgments. Eventually she lost interest.

I like to blame the fact that I paid too much attention to Max, watching his movements and activity over the years, because of my role in playing wingman, but that’s only a half truth. Something about him has always intrigued me. He always remained slightly distant, looking at everyone with an edge of suspicion.

When Kendall and Max started high school, two summers after her failed attempt to catch his attention, she was bent out of shape for a while when Max began dating nearly every girl in their class. She brushed it off, calling him a manwhore, and focused her sights elsewhere, but I continued to watch.

I turn and follow Mindi’s gaze, and my eyes widen as I stand frozen in a moment of awe. Max has always been attractive, hence the many girls going home with him. He’d always been more built than the other guys in school. I’d quickly learned it was partly out of necessity; he and his two older brothers—who we used to refer to as Hank the Tank and Billy the Bully—would work out with each other incessantly, and then beat each other senseless. I recall my mom screaming for my dad to go break up another one of their knock-down, drag-out fights, certain that one of them was going to kill the other on multiple occasions. They never did; however gashes and bruises were frequently worn.

Before becoming better friends with Sharon, my mom deducted it was because Max and his brothers didn’t have a father, and therefore they were competing to hold the alpha male title. I’m sure she was right to some degree, but we try not to encourage our mom, the non-therapist, to psychoanalyze things.

Now Max’s arms and chest both look broader and more defined, covered with a snug fitting black T-shirt. A pair of jeans hang loose on his hips. The sight of his strong jaw and cheekbones has my fingers constricting with the desire to trace the contours, even from here. Although I’m a good fifty feet from him, I swear I can see the piercing clarity of his deep blue eyes that are such a beautiful and rare color, I’m sure Crayola would be inspired to replicate the hue.

It’s been three years since I’ve seen Max. The random framed pictures of him hanging on the walls the few times I’ve visited Sharon and my memories do not do him justice. The sight of him is distracting. Really distracting.

Catching Emily as she wanders over to us, I head inside to stop myself from staring at him any longer.

“Did I hear a motorcycle out there with y’all?” Mom asks, taking Emily and hugging her.

Emily nods and her whole body seems to bounce up and down before my mom turns to me for confirmation.

“Yeah, Max is home.”

“Oh good! Sharon was worried he wouldn’t be back in time. I’ll have to make sure your daddy took enough meat out to grill. I bet those boys can eat a ton. I guess he had to go into San Diego to file something for school. Did you see Jameson and Landon out there too?”

My mind reels, trying to take in everything she just said, focusing on the part of them eating a ton. Is she saying that they’re coming over? I shake my head slowly in response. “Who’s Landon? How’d you know I met Jameson?”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile, but before I can ask anything more, Mindi makes her way inside, loudly complaining about how hot she is and about Kendall being too close to her.

“Ace, I’m grilling. You want to give me a hand?” My dad’s soft voice is hardly coherent over Kendall bickering, providing my answer.

“Are Jenny and Lilly coming tonight?”

“No, it sounds like Jenny and Paul are going through quite the rough patch again,” he answers with a sigh. Opening the lid of the already hot grill, he begins to scrape it clean.

“Dave!” Dad and I both turn, hearing my mom. She’s smiling her too happy of a grin, a sure sign that she has something up her sleeve.

My tension rises as the reality of her smile emerges from the house. Sharon’s following my mom, and right behind her is Max. His bright blue eyes are like beacons. My fingers constrict on the cushion of my seat as I work to avoid him and focus on Zeus, who’s close on his heels.

Instantly feeling a rush of self consciousnesses, I peer down at the navy blue shorts I’d thrown on this morning after my shower. I’m glad it was hot today, requiring shorts opposed to my trademark Sunday sweatpants, but my heart drums when my eyes seem to take too long to fall to the tops of my favorite pair of black Converse shoes.

I stand to greet them, carefully wedging myself between my dad and the chair so he covers nearly half of me. My dad’s a big man, standing at six-two and weighing around two hundred and fifty pounds; my five feet six, narrow frame is pretty easy to conceal.

“Sharon, I’m so glad you and Max can join us! Ace and I are just getting the grill ready!” Their long friendship that’s progressed from professional to personal is apparent in her warm smile.

To this day it’s not an uncommon occurrence for a woman to approach my father and shamelessly flirt with him, much to my sisters’ and my mortification. I know that my father’s attractive—he’s half Puerto Rican and half French—and it’s obvious that he stays fit when looking at his caramel skin. Flecks of gray sprinkle his thick, nearly black hair, which only adds character to him, and he has the warmest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. People often say I have his eyes, but I know without resentment that his blow mine out of the water. On top of his good looks, my father is the smartest person I know. But there’s just something inexplicably weird about having someone hit on your parent, even when they adamantly decline any advances. We all tend to be a little sensitive to this subject, but Sharon makes it overtly clear—and always has—that her friendship is completely benign.

“I can’t believe you guys are out here cooking! You must be exhausted,” Sharon says, turning to Max. “David, Kendall, and Ace just got back from France.” I work to keep my eyes focused on Sharon, rather than looking at Max.

“It may be an early night for me,” Dad admits with a grin.

“Eric called,” Mom says, handing me my renegade cell phone. “He said he’s running late … again.” Her lips press into a thin line, and her artfully sculpted eyebrows rise showing her displeasure.

“How is Eric?” Sharon asks. Before I can respond, she turns toward Max again and explains, “Ace is dating a young man in advertising that she met at school. They’ve been dating for quite some time now.” Max raises a large hand and rakes it over his short cropped hair that’s nearly black, then pushes it forward again before dropping it loosely to his side. His eyes focus on me as though he’s awaiting a response, and it takes me a couple of awkward moments to recall one had been asked.

“Yes, he’s quite ambitious,” my dad offers, apparently sensing my inability to speak.

“I do try!” I look up and smile as Eric appears on the patio dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and polo.

“I’m Eric, Eric Boyd,” he says, extending his hand to Max, before I have the opportunity to introduce the two.

“Max.” he offers, accepting Eric’s hand in what could quite possibly be the most awkward handshake ever as Eric vigorously shakes their joined hands with forced enthusiasm.

“Your mom mentioned you fish.”

Max keeps his eyes trained on Eric and nods. “Yeah, do you?”

“No, I don’t really have time for much these days.”

Eric turns to me and his grin grows into a full smile before he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his chest. “I’m going to have to confiscate all these old T-shirts when you move into your apartment in the fall. I can’t believe you still have them!”

“I can’t believe she wears them!” Kendall chides. Kendall’s always up on every fashion sense, from hair to clothes to the latest nail trends.

I look down at my old track shirt, worn and washed to the point that it’s soft and comfortable and shrug with indifference.

“Hey, Ace, can I borrow you a sec?” Kyle calls from the open patio door.

It’s not that I feel awkward per se, I just haven’t felt at ease since Max Miller joined us on the patio, so without a second thought I follow Kyle in through the house without looking back.

“Want to try your skills at another window? The neighbor locked himself out.”

“Last time you guys did this, you nearly got your face bitten off by a Doberman.” Savannah eyes me wearily, standing in front of the door as a barricade.

“Which neighbor?” We turn to see Max approaching us, tucking his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans.

I should be paying attention to Kyle’s answer, but I’m too distracted wondering who Max was talking to, wondering if it was a girl, and if the same parade will return now that he’s back.

“You should be safe, then. He doesn’t have any dogs.” He winks at Savannah, causing an irrational pang of jealousy in my chest. “Come on, we’ll see if I can fit.” Savannah slowly moves, allowing us permission to exit, looking slightly dazed by Max’s charm.

“You won’t be able to fit, dude. It’s a bathroom window,” Kyle explains.

Max doesn’t seem to find it necessary to respond as we cross the street to the Janes’s and loop around to the backyard.

“Alright, Jack, I think I found our ticket in,” Kyle announces.

“Hey, Mr. Janes.” I smile in greeting.

“You went and got the prettiest one. What, are you trying to make me feel even worse?” Jack replies gruffly. I doubt he can actually tell us apart; he has a tough time recalling how many of us there are.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes, with four older sisters I was often used to test theories, and small spaces,” I tease.

“How come I haven’t seen many of you around lately?”

“They flock to the malls, like moths to the light,” Kyle jokes as his eyes travel to the side of the house landing on our point of entry—a small bathroom window that’s slid open. The bottom of it sits at least eleven feet from the ground.

“Mr. Janes, where’s your lovely wife?” Max’s eyes are fixed on the same window.

“Oh, she’s inside, asleep in front of the TV with her hearing aid turned off,” He grunts, shaking his head.

“Kyle! I think something’s wrong with Emily!” Mindi’s scream has us losing focus on the window, and turning to look at Kyle.

“She’s pregnant, and it hasn’t been a good day. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I should probably go check. Do you guys think you can handle this?” Kyle looks from me to Max apologetically before Mindi starts screaming his name again.

“We’ve got it covered,” Max assures him.

Kyle gives a weak smile and dashes out of sight.

“That isn’t from the pregnancy; she’s always been like that,” Jack mutters.

I smile and look over to see Max jump and grab the windowsill, watching as the muscles in his biceps and forearms become more prominent as he pulls himself toward the window with little exertion. I take the opportunity to study his left arm and the many tattoos that create a sleeve down to his elbow—a new addition to his appearance since leaving for Alaska. Max twists and tries to maneuver himself forward, but it’s quickly apparent that there’s no chance his shoulders are going to fit through the gap. He lowers himself back to the ground with a soft thud and looks over to me.

“Sorry, it looks like he was right. You sure you want to try this? I can go see if I can maneuver the locks or check other windows.” He looks down at me with reluctance apparent in his gaze.

“Kyle tried all that before going to get you kids.” Jack scratches his thinning gray hair as he looks over the back of his house. “I can just wait on the porch, eventually Ethel will wake up.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes. It’s no problem.” I assure him and turn my attention to Max. “I’m going to need your help though. I don’t think I’ll be able to pull off that Spiderman move.”

Max smirks and my breath catches seeing his eyes grow bright with humor. I consciously force myself to exhale, and then inhale again as I divert my attention back to the window that as I stand closer, appears higher.

“Alright, prepare to feel like Spiderman,” Max says, creating a stirrup with his hands. Using my right foot I pull myself up and shimmy my way through the narrow window, anchoring myself by gripping the side of the house and the window.

I’m directly over the bathtub, which is exactly what I’d been hoping wouldn’t be the case, because getting down will prove to be more of a challenge. I glance around the bird-themed room, trying to ascertain exactly how to ease my way in without face-planting in the bathtub and notice a small alcove where the soap and shampoo are nested. The cool tile tickles my fingertips as I reach toward the inlet. My muscles tense with the sudden panic that ensues as my grip on the windowsill slips. My stomach scrapes painfully against the windowsill as my hand rakes across the small space I’d been trying to reach in an attempt to brace myself, sending everything to the floor of the tub with an alarming crash. My scream echoes back at me as I feel Max’s hands grip my ankles stopping my descent.

I sigh in relief as the soap bottles continue to roll, clanging around the empty tub with the same loud volume that my heart beats.

A breeze rolls across my bare legs, and my skin, more sensitive to the cool air with the blood pulsating through my limbs from the adrenaline makes me abruptly aware of my short shorts, and uncomfortable positioning that has my butt and hips propped in the air.

“Are you okay? I’m pulling you out, this was a bad idea!” Max calls.

“I’m okay. Just a bruised ego.” My voice sounds strained and too loud from the pressure of the windowsill and the tile wall cutting into my stomach. “I just need to resituate.”

I carefully work to readjust myself, making sure to grip the house and windowsill so tightly my fingers ache as I slowly move and readjust until I have both feet dangling in the window. I reason that the easiest way in will be to jump the few feet inside and hope that I don’t slip.

My nerves from the near face-plant have me stalling a few breaths. The bathroom door flies open as I watch the shampoo bottle finally roll to a stop and see a flurry of purple and teal that causes my heart rate to speed up again. Thankfully my fingers are locked around the windowsill and frame from the first mishap, otherwise I would likely be on my backside in the tub right now. My focus clears to see all five foot nothing of Ethel Janes staring down at me from the end of a shotgun barrel aimed directly at my chest.