Chapter 1
I was twelve when I had my first boyfriend. It lasted three minutes.
I was thirteen when I had my first kiss. A rumor started the next day that I had such bad breath he passed out after.
I was sixteen when I realized I wasn’t the problem. It was my two overbearing bodyguards instead.
Ford Collins became my brother’s best friend when we were in elementary school, and that meant, by default, he was another one of my defenders—and I’m not referring to his position on the hockey team. My brother was—and still is—a bossy, looming shadow that follows my every move, and as soon as Ford practically started to live at our house, he did the same.
That’s not to say that Emory and Ford were nice to me, though. In fact, they were anything but. I wanted nothing more than to hang out with them and follow their every move, so much so that I’d sit outside for hours, ignoring my own friends, just to watch them practice their hockey drills.
Emory possessed a skill that not many people had. He was quick on the ice, ruthless too, even as a ten-year-old. Ford was right behind him with precision and agility, and to top it all off, he had a knowledge of hockey that was simply unheard of.
I was nine the first time they banded together and rejected me.
My dad had built a makeshift hockey rink for my brother and Ford in our backyard, and of course, I wasn’t allowed on it. They’d race to it after school, and I’d follow after them, even with Emory mumbling under his breath for me to go away. The boys were rough and rowdy, and I was docile and fragile. The explanation of, “It isn’t a place for you to play and get hurt; it’s a place for the boys to practice,” was something I’d heard a million times, but still, it only took two weeks for me to gain the courage to step over the side and feel the rush of defiance. Emory threatened to tell our parents, but I knew Ford would cover for me.
Except, things took a turn the moment I slipped backward, and that was the start of Ford becoming my enemy.
The sound my head made when it hit the ice was a pure reflection of my poor choice.
“Taytum!” Ford made it over to me first, sliding onto his knees to come to my rescue.
I gasped with a throb so painful I cried out.
Emory checked for injuries as Ford kept me in his lap. I remember counting the faint freckles on Ford’s face to help me calm down, but when Emory pulled his hand away from the back of my skull, his fingers were painted red, and we all froze.
My parents stormed outside, and my pulse raced.
I tried to talk myself out of trouble, even with the sticky blood matting my hair. I looked to Ford for an olive branch, but with his face pale and Emory muttering into his ear, I knew my game of tug-o-war with my brother was over.
He won.
Ford was his best friend.
Not mine.
A flash of hurt flickered across Ford’s boyish features right before my parents turned to him to get the story straight—like they always did. And sure enough, he threw me right under the bus.
I no longer considered Ford anything but my foe.
He wasn’t my friend. He was Emory’s.
And every day since, he and my brother have banded together to make my life a living hell.
Or, according to them, they’ve banded together to protect me.
Which is complete and utter bullshit.