Great.

Wes and I help him lug boxes into his new place because neither of us have class. I caught him looking back and forth between my dad and me a couple of times when he first arrived, but he quickly fell into a natural rhythm, making easy conversation that unveiled stories of how my dad picked up computer programming last several years ago, and is now a contractor working remotely for a company out of San Francisco.

Billy had been worried that he didn’t have a job and was trying to be a freeloader. At least this will give him a small bit of comfort.

Conversations remain careful. He doesn’t talk much about the years he’s been gone and even less about the years he was around, leaving us with discussing a lot about me. Thankfully, Wes fills in a lot of the stories that I glaze over, he was around for so many of them it’s not difficult for him.

“Your Grandpa would have been proud. Did you know he played baseball all through school? If he hadn’t joined the Marines out of high school, he would have played in college. Everyone talked about how he had a hell of a curve ball, but an even better instinct on knowing where the ball was going to land. He played shortstop. Caught countless fly balls.”

“He would have loved to have seen Max play. He kicked ass out on the field. He could hit the ball so long it didn’t matter if you knew which direction it was going, you were shit out of luck, because it was soaring into next week.”

A smirk creeps across my face and my head shakes. I haven’t thought about baseball in a couple of years, let alone missed it, but right now the comfort and sureness of the weight of the bat in my hands makes me yearn for the sport.

“A couple of guys I know are working to create a league this summer. We should red shirt it. See how it goes.” It’s as though he can read my desire for the game.

“Yeah. We’ll see.” I’d like to commit, but I sort of fear what playing will do to me. Will it make me regress further? Make me want to find other things that I’ve allowed to leave my life?

“Why has no one ever taught me how to punch someone? You guys make it seem so easy, but it’s not. It hurts like a mother!” Our heads turn as Kendall comes through the door, being led by Savannah, Abby, Jenny, and Kendall’s old roommate whose name I can’t remember.

A bag of chips falls to the floor as Jameson stands. “You punched someone?” His question comes out with as much shock as I feel.

“My thumb kills,” she whines, dropping her purse. “Apparently, you’re supposed to have your thumb on the outside of your fist, which is not at all how I form a fist.”

“What in the hell happened? Are you okay?” Jameson’s eyes scan over her repeatedly.

“No, my wrist hurts, and my thumb hurts—”

“Why’d you punch someone?” His agitation grows as he cuts her off.

I turn to Savannah, who looks reluctant to join in the conversation. The girls have been convening over here more and more recently, causing mayhem on my emotions, which has led me to spending more time with Erin at her apartment.

“Who’d you punch?” Landon asks.

“Was there hair pulling involved?” Wes adds with a grin.

Jameson shoots him a glare before turning back to Kendall, whose face has turned calculated.

“Abby what in the hell happened?” I demand.

“We sort of ran into Nathan Hudson …” Abby begins, letting her words trail off.

Jesse lets out a line of profanities in Spanish as he looks up at the ceiling.

“What in the hell were you guys thinking?” Jameson snaps. “You guys have been drinking and you tried to get in a fist fight? You were supposed to be celebrating Jenny’s engagement! And she’s pregnant!” he says, waving a hand to Abby. “And you didn’t get in a fight with just anyone … you went and punched an asshole that would probably have hit you back! What in the hell happened?”

“I’m only four months pregnant. I’m still tough,” Abby retorts.

Jesse, who already looks ready to punch someone himself or start screaming, mutters something in Spanish and shakes his head.

I look over in time to catch Kendall’s expression. I’m expecting to see fire and anger, followed by her screaming about how she can take care of herself. Instead, her face is somber before it crumples, and she falls into Jameson’s chest and cries.

My gaze hits the area rug as my jaw stretches. I force myself to believe that what I’m feeling is purely sympathy for Kendall, who I’m starting to less reluctantly view as a friend, rather than just Jameson’s girlfriend. My attention turns to the other girls. Jenny shifts uneasily, looking over to Savannah, who also looks on the brink of tears.

“Babe, it’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. Shhh.” Jameson tucks her under his chin.

“I hate him,” Kendall’s muffled voice cries. “I just want her to come home.”

I feel eyes turn to me, waiting for a reaction I can’t give. I know her absence affects all of us, but sometimes I forget the magnitude of it.

Kendall cries for a few minutes before she pulls back, and wipes her face. “He really is dense. His head felt like punching a cement wall.”

Wes is the first to laugh, holding nothing back as he leans forward and repeats her words. Jesse and Landon join, and I smile. A choking sob has me turning to see Abby wiping tears from her cheek with one hand, and holding onto Jenny, who tries to smile through tears falling down her cheeks with the other.

“I need you to teach me how to punch,” Kendall adds, brushing her cheeks with her fingers. “I want to be able to lay someone out.”

“You weigh like a hundred pounds. You’re never going to be able to really lay somebody out,” Landon says, trying to hide his grin.

“Okay, well at least be able to hurt them more than it hurts me.”

“Punching someone usually hurts,” Jameson says. “Even if you know what you’re doing.”

“You’re lying.” Her eyes come directly to me, and Jesse and Wes both laugh even harder.

“It depends on where you hit them, and how hard, but yeah, it can hurt,” I admit.

“Ace would call that karma,” Savannah says quietly and then bursts into a new stream of tears.

The Bosse women stay. In my house. For a fucking sleepover.

A.

Fucking.

Sleepover.

Waking up to the blond heads has me jittery with memories, and they progressively get worse when I smell the scent of pancakes coming from the kitchen, accompanied by a chorus of giggles.

“Let’s go,” Landon says, standing from the couch.

I look up and he nods toward the front door. “Let’s go for a run.”

I stand and disappear upstairs to pull on some shorts and socks and then bound downstairs to find Landon hooking Zeus to his leash.

We run for over a mile with the only sounds coming from the city around us.

“I think he’s starting to get used to the leash,” Landon says as we slow to a stop at a crosswalk. I look over to Zeus and watch Landon pat his head and then turn to look at me. “Eventually you learn to adapt.”

“I’m fine,” I respond to his shrink talk.

Landon nods a couple of times and then scratches along his chin. She had pointed out to me once that Landon does this when he’s feeling pensive. I don’t know how I’d never noticed it prior to her pointing it out, but she was right. And for some reason that reminder annoys me.

“How’s school going?” he asks as we start again.

My anger ebbs and disappointment floods me. I’ve already dealt with the anger on this subject, and the denial. I’m onto regret. “I’m going to have to re-apply and beg the dean to allow me to come back. Promise her that I won’t fuck things up again and actually take things serious next year.”

“That’s alright, dude. Do what you have to do to clear things up, and get your ass back in there. I think she’ll understand that you just needed some time off.”