Chapter 21: The Fake Zone: Chapter 21

I call a greeting as I open the front door. The scents of cinnamon, sugar, and scrambled eggs fill the air.

“Morning,” Alex calls.

I set my new jump rope beside the door and head into the kitchen, finding Jon with an apron that says “#1 Dad” across the front, flipping french toast. “You made it just in time for breakfast.”

Alex looks up from where he’s seated at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. “You left early.”

I angle my head in the direction of the door. “I had to meet Grey.”

The ghost of a smile crosses his expression. “I like him.”

I roll my eyes and try to stop his words of approval from attaching to my straying thoughts. Jon presses a kiss to the side of my head. “Ignore him.”

“I plan to.” I pick up a piece of sliced pineapple and pop it into my mouth as Alex makes a wounded cry.

“Why are you breaking the rules and working at the breakfast table,” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Alex removes his glasses and rubs his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “Contract deadlines. Complaints. Proposals.” Stress punctuates each word. Alex’s creativity is more than a drive. It’s his sustenance, and when he’s in the midst of a project, it’s difficult for him to surface except in small bursts.

I lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, maybe you should get some work in today. I have a ton of things I need to get done to prepare for the semester that I’ve been putting off, so I was going to spend most of the day in the basement anyway.”

Jon slides a plate filled with French toast drizzled with cream cheese frosting, crispy hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit in front of me, along with my favorite coffee.

I’ve been taking care of myself and cooking for the better part of three years, but being home and pampered by my parents turns my heart to soft goo, making fears like Julian feel as far away as Pluto.

“Maybe we should head to the beach later this week,” I suggest. “It’s supposed to get nice again.”

“Great idea,” Jon says. “I love everything about California, but our beaches here are impossible to compete with.”

“That’s what Evelyn says, too,” I say, grabbing the ketchup and drawing a pattern across my hashbrowns.

“And maybe today we could…” His words trail off as Alex glances at him, a silent request to help him today. Jon is twice as fast at typing and is often Alex’s sounding board for ideas as well as communications.

“Don’t worry. I have loads to do.”

After breakfast, I head downstairs to the basement, which we converted into my own personal apartment. It wasn’t necessary, but my parents gifted it to me as a surprise, having it professionally made over. It’s beautiful, warm, and artsy. I love the space and planned to stay here rather than move into an apartment, but Jon hated the idea of me being alone, and Alex thought I’d enjoy my college experience more if I was closer to campus.

I spend the next two hours watching self-defense and fighting videos online and eventually cuddle up with a book and a fresh cup of coffee. I’m considering ordering something for lunch when my phone dings with a message. If someone was here, I’d be embarrassed by how fast I reach for it, hoping it’s Grey reminding me to do something tomorrow or asking me another question.

My heart sinks a little, seeing Hadley’s name.

The last time I saw Hadley was at the booster event last week, following Silva insulting me and Grey kissing me. I’m not in a much better head space now than I was then, and I struggle to answer the simple question.

Hadley is close to her siblings in a way that reminds me of my relationship with Hudson.

I don’t know what else to say as a minute and then another ticks by. I mastered small talk years ago, a requirement of shuffling homes or perhaps a product, but similar to Hannah, Hadley and I are past the stages of small talk, on the fence of friendship, which requires opening up and sharing—trusting. My thoughts drift to Grey and how much I’ve recently shared with him.

Embarrassment paves a path for regret and rejection to crash over me, recalling how I’d told him about how uneducated I was when moving here. I think of how I’ve shared things with him that likely have him seeing me in a new light—one where he pities me or realizes exactly how many rips and tears exist beyond my exterior that often make me feel a sense of brokenness beyond repair. Reasons mount in my thoughts for why he didn’t kiss me this morning when my body language clearly asked him to.

I groan in the silence of my room, wishing I could go back in time to that damn self-date and cancel.

She’s doing the heavy lifting and inviting me though I’ve made little attempt to reach out since Florida. Briggs claims I keep everyone at arm’s length because I’m afraid they might hurt me. He even has a fancy diagnosis, calling it anxious and avoidant attachment, which is why my friend circle remains at three.

I type out three excuses for why I can’t come and then think of book club, of how much Evelyn likes Hadley and Hannah, of how Nolan looks at Hadley like she’s his reason for existing, and slowly, my fingers glide over the keys.

The thought of Julian Holloway following me has me taking the most indirect route, ensuring no one is following me. I arrive with two bags of tortilla chips, a bag of jalapeno chips, and three other flavors because my aversion to attachment is from fear, not because I don’t care.

My heart beats a familiar race that has me recalling what it felt like as a kid on a new family’s doorstep, hoping for the same thing I am today—acceptance.

Hannah opens the door with a smile that grows into a laugh as her gaze lowers to the bags in my hands. “You might be Hadley’s soul mate.”

I step inside with a grin, trying to find my confidence. I’ve only been here a few times, but each time I come, I fall more in love with their house. The charm and rustic appeal feel like a warm hug, like I should be walking around in sweats and fuzzy socks while sipping coffee and making myself at home.

Hannah leads us into the kitchen. It’s half the size of the one in our apartment but holds twice the charm. An array of scents greets us, spices, cheese, popcorn, and chocolate. Hadley’s at the stove, stirring something that smells of candied sugar and vanilla.

“Hey! I’m almost done,” Hadley says.

“Mila’s channeling your same go big or go home energy,” Hannah says, taking the bags of chips and laying them on the counter.

Hadley grins. “I thought it would be fun to have a popcorn bar.”

“Five flavors of popcorn,” Hannah says. “To go with our four dips and four desserts.”

Hadley merely grins. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“If you have some coffee, I would love some.”

“Hot or chilled?” Hadley asks, quickly becoming my favorite person of the day.

“Chilled would be amazing.” Iced coffee has always been my vice.

She grins. “You can help yourself. They’re on the bottom shelf.”

I open the fridge and take a second and then a third look at the fruits and vegetables with varying googly eyes staring at me.

“Don’t ask,” Hannah says.

I glance at the orange next to the green bell pepper and smile. Hadley and Nolan are notorious for pulling pranks on each other, and I have no doubt this is one of them. “How have things been since getting back from Florida?” I ask, grabbing a chocolate-flavored coffee and taking a final glance at the milk carton that stares at me with six eyeballs.

Hadley nods. “Nolan and I just returned from Philadelphia yesterday.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t freeze,” I say.

“Oh, I did,” Hadley says, taking the pot off the stove. “But it was worth it. What have you been up to?”

I watch with curiosity and fascination as she pours the hot contents over a bowl of popcorn.

“Not much. I began working out with Grey because apparently my coffee and binge-watching diet isn’t sustainable.” It’s a half-truth. I have gone up a pant size this year.

Hadley raises a brow as she stirs the mixture, long threads of sugary sweetness bridging clumps of the popcorn.

“What kind of workout?” Hannah asks.

“Right now, we’re doing cardio, which only makes me feel stabby every other day.”

Their laughter seems more than just courteous.

“He’s not making you do their football routine. Is he?” Hadley asks. “Because I’ve watched that, and it’s brutal.” She signals to the bowls. “These are ready. Let’s take them to the living room.”

I grab two of the bowls and shake my head as I follow them to the living room. “No, his friend is an MMA fighter, so we’re supposed to be doing some of that stuff…” I want to tag on an excuse, tell them it’s to release anger and stress or because it’s supposed to be a good workout, something—anything—that will prevent me from launching into my fears.

“An MMA fighter?” Hannah asks, taking a handful of the cheesy popcorn I set down. “Is he single? I refuse to date any more football players, but an MMA fighter…” she fills her mouth with popcorn as she tilts her head with consideration.

“I have no idea,” I tell her, grinning.

“Do you have a picture of him? How do we see my potential future husband?” Hannah asks.

I chuckle. “I’ve never seen him. His name’s Cole something.” I forgot his last name nearly as soon as it was spoken.

“Is he a professional fighter?” Hannah grabs a laptop. “Maybe we can find him.”

“I think so. He has a fight tonight.”

Hannah’s eyes grow wide, and she looks from me to Hadley. “Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That you really want to watch Twilight and stuff yourself full of popcorn and dips?” Hadley asks hopefully.

Hannah doesn’t respond, turning to the opened laptop. “Do you know where the fight is?”

I shake my head. “They’re from Highgrove, but I can’t imagine it’s there. There’s nothing in Highgrove but farmland and a couple of factories.” I hate the itch of hopefulness scratching at my subconscious.

Hannah continues sleuthing while Hadley tells me about the popcorn flavors she made, butter toffee, marshmallow, cheese, and rosemary parmesan.

We sample each delicious kind while recapping the first movie, recalling details I’ve forgotten.

We barely make it past the opening scene when Hannah sits up. “I found it.” Her brow furrows. “Or … I I found it.” She turns the laptop around to show me the screen. “Have you heard of a place called Better Days?”

I shake my head. “I’ve only driven through Highgrove.”

Hadley leans closer. “Are you sure this is it?” There’s scarce information, yet Hannah’s already pulling up Google Maps and searching for the address.

“I think it’s a bar,” she says.

I shake my head. “It can’t be there. Can it?”

“Maybe we should go,” Hannah says, hope bleeding into her words as she turns to Hadley. “We haven’t been out on a Camden tradition in weeks. I need a little excitement and adventure.”

This past quarter, Nolan took Hadley to multiple Camden traditions, some secrets, and others far less. It was how I initially knew he liked her as more than a friend.

Hadley slides her gaze to me. “What do you think?”

I shrug, trying to look indifferent. Apart from the videos I watched this morning on YouTube, I’ve never seen a fight. I want to see what Grey is training me for—what I might be capable of doing eventually. “What time does it start?”

“Nine,” Hannah reads.

The idea of Grey seeing us and thinking we’re there to see him keeps me from letting my previous thoughts take flight. “I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m pretty content with dip, popcorn, and fictional men.”

“Don’t make me play the edible cookie card again,” Hannah says, determining our plans with the simple reminder.

We park at an old bar appropriately named Better Days because it’s certainly seen its better days. Several of the letters in the neon sign are burned out, so from a distance, it reads, BeDs.

“Is this it?” Hannah asks from the back seat of my car.

I look from my GPS to the single-story white brick building.

Hannah skims over her phone and then looks at the bar again. “I guess we go in and check it out. I mean, if it’s not here, they can probably give us directions.”

“There are a lot of trucks here,” Hadley points out. “Something has to be going on.”

“Is that a chicken?” Hannah asks.

We turn to see a chicken crossing the road, confirming we’re in small-town Southern America.

“I think the joke’s on us, chicken friend,” I murmur.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Hannah opens the back door and slides out of the car. My nerves are my shadow as we cross the parking lot and open the front door.

The bar is empty except for a lone bartender who looks at us for a split second before turning his attention back to his phone.

“We must have the wrong address,” Hadley says quietly from where we remain unmoving just inside the front door. The lighting is dim inside, and I can only think it’s so people don’t stare too long at the worn interior where pictures, dollar bills, and posters cover the walls.

“Maybe we should go follow the chicken,” I suggest.

Hadley laughs as Hannah turns to her phone, but before she can load the website again, a door opens near the back, and noise floods the space as a guy our age steps out, pressing a phone to his ear. “Say that again? I was down in the fight and couldn’t hear you.”

Hannah grabs our hands and heads for the door. A wooden staircase without rails sits beyond it, leading into a basement. Warning bells blare in my head, suggesting we go back and finish the dips, desserts, and the final Twilight movies as I follow them down. We step into a basement filled with people.

I stare down a man who looks at Hannah like she’s his new plan for the evening. “She’s not interested,” I tell him before pressing a hand to Hannah’s shoulders, encouraging her to keep walking. Like upstairs, the basement is poorly lit. It stinks of beer, sweat, and tires, making me glad I didn’t eat too much. I’m not sure it would stay down.

“Why do I feel like we just fell down a rabbit hole?” Hadley asks, peering around at the crowds of mostly men.

The mood is deceivingly light. Money and bets are being passed while others talk easily, showing their comfort with both the location and those around us.

We follow Hannah, weaving through the crowd to get a better view. A man wearing a baseball hat low over his eyes stops in front of me, greeting a friend before turning and acknowledging me with a slow plunge of his gaze. “I haven’t seen you before,” he says.

I stare at him, debating whether my inclination to be sarcastic will get us into trouble, and then recall Grey’s comment about keeping his head down while in Highgrove. The thought propels me to question if Grey knows him—if this guy knows Grey. Are they friends? Enemies? Acquaintances?

“We’re here to watch Cole,” I say.

The stranger’s smile is a slow crawl that reveals perfect white teeth. “He’s up next.” He leans back, allowing me to see through the next few layers of spectators, where steel crowd barriers keep everyone from the middle of the room.

“Are you friends with Cole?” he asks.

I shake my head as Hannah says, “Yes.”

The stranger looks between us, his eyebrows raised.

I don’t try and clarify. Sometimes confusion is the best ally.

The guy slips his eyes from me to Hannah and then Hadley. “Well, enjoy the show.” He waves us forward, and we move past him.

“I see Grey,” Hadley whispers.

I do, too. I saw him the moment the crowd parted. He’s across from us, standing in the front row against one of the barriers, his hand on a man’s shoulder who’s a few inches shorter than him, whose hands and wrists are taped. I assume he’s Cole. He’s leaner than I expected.

Grey tells him something, brow drawn, face serious as he draws a hand across the crude area designated for fighting.

Maybe he’s not more easygoing with his friends in Highgrove.

“Is this legal?” Hadley asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

Hannah looks torn, glancing around the fight and then at the stairs. “Maybe we should—”

“All right, all right!” a man calls, rounding one of the barriers and stepping into the middle of the room. He’s dressed entirely in black, even his baseball hat, which is sideways. “Are you ready to feast your eyes on Cole Stephens and JB Wright?”

Everyone whistles and cheers as they shift forward, pinning us in place as they pull out phones that they direct toward the mat.

“It can’t be illegal if we’re allowed to record it,” Hannah says.

“Is that really a trustworthy barometer these days?” Hadley asks.

More announcements are made, but the crowd is too loud to hear most of the details. It’s evident that most are here for Cole, though, when he steps out and the crowd roars in response.

“Where are their shoes?” Hannah asks. “They’re going to need a rabies shot after this.”

A guy next to us gives her a bewildered look that has Hadley clearing her throat. We don’t stick out based on our looks alone, it’s our wide, stunned eyes and judgment that make us stick out like sore thumbs.

“Are we too close?” Hadley asks. “How well do you think these things will hold if the fight moves this way?” The moment the question leaves her lips, Cole punches his opponent so hard, it’s like hearing a rubber mallet connect with a board.

My stomach rolls.

“Ouch,” Hannah says.

The opponent moves surprisingly quickly and kicks at Cole. Cole shifts, almost lazily, avoiding him easily.

With every hit, the crowd surges, and when blood spills, it becomes nearly earsplitting. They’re bloodthirsty.

An internal war is taking place in my head, the desire to be able to inflict this kind of pain and the utter horror at the notion.

I sag back, ready to tell Hadley and Hannah we should go when a set of icy blue eyes stop in front of me, and my body hums with familiarity as Grey appears.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”