“I texted her yesterday to thank her and tell her how much I loved everything she’s put together. So, what do you think of Gorgeous?”

“He looks very sweet and vulnerable. It’s a very sexy look.”

“I know.”

“Do you even have clothes that are suitable for the Hamptons?”

“Oh, shit. I only brought one bikini and no, I don’t!”

“I’ll text Kym. She’s in New York. She’ll have something couriered to you. If she has it there by three tomorrow, will that work?”

“Yeah, thanks for thinking of that, Mom.”

“You sound like you’re doing okay. Are you really? Are you crying yourself to sleep? Are you having bad dreams?”

“No. I’m doing okay. Pretty okay. Mostly, I try not to think about it. Garrett told me that I may never get to come back. That I should start making my life here. So I’m trying to do my best.”

“Oh, I didn’t mention this before, but somewhere in all the stuff that Kym sent you were the birth control pills that we talked about when you were dating Brook. Did you find them?”

“No. I still have one box that I haven’t completely gone through.”

“Well, they will make your periods shorter. I just don’t want you thinking you can have sex with just anyone because you’re on it. And you should still always use a condom. It’s just like a back-up plan. Right?”

“I know. Thank you. I’ll find them and start them. Shorter periods sound great. So, Garrett told me stuff about Vincent, but no one has said anything about how you are doing. About the girls. Has he been in Vancouver?”

“From what I understand, he was all over Malibu. We kept the girls at home and brought their dance teacher in. The girls love it here. The house we’re leasing sits on a large piece of land. It’s very private, and they have lots of room to run around.”

“I’m glad. Are they still awake? Can I talk to them?”

“Of course. I was just getting ready to go read them a bedtime story. Would you like to read them one instead? You have most of them memorized.”

Tears fill my eyes. “I’d love to, Mom.”

I miss reading them bedtime stories. I miss how they smell just after their nightly baths and how adorable they look in their little pajamas.

I hear Mom walking across a wood floor then hear her say, “Keatyn is on the phone, girls. She wants to read you a bedtime story.”

She puts me on speaker and the girls all talk at once.

“Kiki, Kiki, we have a big house and a yard and we might get a puppy,” Ivery says.

Gracie says, “Me! Kiki, I talk now. We gonna name puppy, Kiki!”

“Kiki, Kiki, Kiki!” is chanted.

“What are you going to call me then?” I ask.

“Momma says you on a long ’venture. So we get to have puppy Kiki!” Emery explains.

“What kind of dog are you getting?”

Gracie says, “A yellow one! Just like Kiki hair!”

“A yellow one?”

“It’s Avery, Keatyn,” Avery says in an extremely grown up voice. I think with me gone, she’s trying to be the mature oldest sister. “We are getting a golden retriever just like Buoy.”

Buoy is Damian’s dog.

“Buoy has hair just like Kiki!!” Gracie screams. “We fix Kiki hair. We gonna brush Kiki hair. Daddy says we have to pick up Kiki poo poo!”

The girls yell. “Gross!” “Ick.” “Daddy is silly.”

Gracie says, “I tell Daddy we make Kiki wear pull-ups just like me!”

Katie walks in the room and sees me sitting on my bed with tears streaming down my face.

I can picture them all bouncing on their beds. I miss them. I miss their neck-crushing hugs.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

I nod my head but cry harder.

“I have to go, girls. I’ll let Mommy read you your story,” I choke out.

Mom takes the phone off speaker. “I’m sorry about the dog, honey. We’re trying to talk them into another name.”

“It’s okay. Give them hugs for me.”

I hang up. Put my face in my hands and cry.

Katie sits on my bed and gives me a big hug. “What’s wrong?”

“My sisters are naming a dog after me.”

Katie starts laughing. And I can’t help it. I start laughing through my tears.

“That’s pretty freaking funny,” she says.

Friday, September 2nd

A safe place to go.

7:08am

When I check my email this morning, there’s one from Sam. He states that he’s successfully negotiated a deal on my loft. That the owners had already moved out and that we will close on it next week.

I smile. Then I almost start crying.

It sounds stupid, but the idea of having a home, a safe place to go, sounds so wonderful. I’m so excited. I ask him if I need to do anything. Sign anything. He says no. That he already has my power of attorney and he will take care of everything. In fact, he put such a large deposit down they already have given him the keys in case I want to hire a designer and get started. He told me I should get the keys in the mail on Tuesday.

I think about furnishing the loft. What I want. A comfortable bed and pillow. High thread count sheets, a pool table, flat screen TVs, bar, hot tub on the patio, maybe. I pull the floor plan up on my phone. I want the first floor great room to be the room I’ll entertain in. The cozy upstairs loft I want to be a quiet place to sit, watch a movie, relax in my pajamas.

I haven’t told anyone about the loft. I was afraid to upset Mom. I text Garrett.

Me: I bought a house. Well, it’s a loft. I haven’t told my mom because I know she’ll freak. I thought it might be a good idea to have a safe place to go. That no one knows about. So far, only Sam knows. The listing said it has a security system, but I don’t know if it’s any good. Is this something you can help me with, or should I hire that on my own?

Garrett: I’m proud of you! That’s a very smart decision.

Me: Thanks :)

Garrett: I’d like to handle the security personally.

Me: Good. Another question. I know Kym goes to NY and sends me clothes from there and stuff. She has other clients besides Mom, so I know that’s okay. I need to have it furnished. She’s good at that. Do you think it’s okay to tell her? To have her go there? Help me? Hire a designer? Or should I do that myself?

Garrett: My initial reaction is that I like the idea of no one knowing about it. Where is it?

Me: NYC

Garrett: Perfect. A train ride and you can be there if you ever need to run. Let me get back to you.

Me: Okay, class is about to start, so I have to put my phone away anyway. Thanks, Garrett.

Saturday, September 3rd

Sleazy train wreck.

11am

I’m just getting to the surf tournament. I hired a car to pick me up from the train station and drive me here. I have no idea when I will go to the Hamptons. I’m not sure how things will feel with Brooklyn. So I hired the driver for the whole weekend.

I chose my outfit for today very, very carefully. Well, I mean I chose it out of the stuff that Kym sent. I want to look like the Keats that B knows and says he loves, but I want to look more grown up.

Like, seriously, I feel like I’ve aged five years since I left home.

I pick my way though the crowd and look for Brooklyn’s tent.

I find it among the many sponsor tents and spy Brooklyn inside. My heart still does a little flip when I see him. He looks so cute.

I can tell he’s already been out surfing. The tips of his hair are dry, but it’s darker closer to his head. His bangs are hanging down in his eyes. He’s got on board shorts, my necklace, and a pair of sandals.

There’s a short line of girls waiting for his autograph. I watch him laugh, smile, and flirt with the girls.

Then I watch him sign a girl’s boob.

The next girl in line apparently doesn’t want to be outdone. So she turns around, wiggles her thong toward him, and gets him to sign one of her butt cheeks.

Then the three girls crowd around him for a picture. Two of the girls walk away, but the third one, who is sporting orange-tanned skin and huge fake boobs, grabs him and starts kissing him.

I can barely believe my eyes.

I get the autographs, but kissing?!

Why is he not stopping this?

And, ohmigawd, she’s, like, practically eating him alive!

Even worse, he doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps his arms around her and has his hands all over her half-naked ass.

The kissing finally stops. He gives her a huge grin. She gives him her number, and I feel like I need a shower.

Seriously?

I have the sudden urge to leave.

But I don’t.

I think it’s time to catch his attention.

I stand in front of his tent until he notices me.

I’m wearing a skin-colored macramé bikini. Little chunky turquoise and coral stones run down around my cleavage, and the bikini’s strings have little stones at the end of them. There’s a single long gold chain around my neck with a large turquoise stone. I’m wearing turquoise and straw colored platform wedges that are surprisingly easy to maneuver in the sand. Big gold Dolce & Gabbana aviators on my face. Gauzy white shirt, all unbuttoned. Straw cowboy hat in my hand. My hair in beachy waves.

He seems me, smiles, and checks out my bikini.

But he doesn’t recognize me.

Apparently he doesn’t notice the chaos tattoo on my hip, which is clearly visible, and an exact match for the one on his very own wrist.

I put my sunglasses on top of my head and smile back.

He takes a second look and his eyes get big when he realizes it’s me.

He leaves his line of admirers, runs up to me, pulls me into a big hug, and leans in to kiss me.

I totally turn my cheek.

“I just saw your make out session with fake boobs. You’d have to sanitize your mouth before I’d kiss you.”

He laughs, not seeming the least bit worried that I watched another girl shove her tongue down his throat, throws his arm around me, and leads me to his tent.

I stand around and watch while he finishes his autograph session. Watch girls fawn all over him, watch him loving it, and wonder what it all means.

But I know, just like Mom, if you’re going to be in the public eye, you have to do stuff like this. So I can’t fault him for it, and I shouldn’t take it personally. It has nothing to do with our relationship.

I mean, if we have a relationship.

Regardless, he’s my friend. I should be supportive.

But then he says, “Hey, I have to, uh, run somewhere real quick.” He puts his arm up and scratches the back of his head. “I’ll be back in a few. Uh, hold down the fort.”

I’ve known Brooklyn for a really long time and can read him well. The scratching of the head. The weird look in his eye.

There’s something he’s not telling me.

Plus, as he’s walking away, he glances back over his shoulder a few times. Like he’s making sure I stay put.

I know something’s going on, so I follow him.

I lose him in the crowd for a minute, but then I spot him. He’s talking to the big-boobed girl. I’m shocked when she lays a big kiss on his lips and pulls him into a changing tent.

About ten minutes later, they sneak back out. Him looking satisfied, and her just looking like a sleazy train wreck.

And I can barely believe it.

If you would have told me this, I never in a million years would’ve believed it.

I just saw it with my own eyes, and I still can’t believe it.

It’s one thing for him to kiss girls for publicity. It’s another thing entirely for him to be doing them in cabanas.

So much for his best friend love.

I’m so done with him. Like, forever.

I walk straight up to him and the girl. “It’s a good thing all we are to each other is friends, or I might’ve been really hurt by that. And I’d say, Have fun, enjoy your tournament, but you obviously already are. I’m outta here.”

I turn and walk away.

He leaves the girl standing there and comes after me. “But, Keats.”

He grabs my arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t leave,” he says.

I flip him off and continue walking toward the car.

He doesn’t follow me any further.

I hop back inside the dark-windowed town car, turn, and look for the driver. I had told him to wait here because I thought that after I talked to Brooklyn I would run my stuff to his hotel.

A crowd is still streaming in.

I’m getting ready to text my driver when a face causes me to look twice.

It looks like Vincent.

But it couldn’t be.

I look closer.

Shit. He’s got on the same yellow driving shoes he wore the night we had dinner.

It is him!

And he’s walking straight toward the car.

Straight toward me!

My first instinct is to hide.

I drop down below the window and start to shake.

What am I going to do? Should I call Garrett?

My phone. I go to the special app and hit it three times. 911.

The driver’s side door opens. I fall to the floor and try to make myself small.

Someone pats me on my back and I stifle a shriek.

The driver says, “Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”

“Shut the door. And lock it, please,” I whisper. “These windows are tinted aren’t they? Can anyone see me in here?”

“They are pretty darkly tinted. Someone would have to be very close to see inside.”

I peek up, see Vincent standing literally right next to the car. He stops to check himself in the window. He takes off his dark sunglasses and fixes an out of place hair.