It makes me wish mom was still around. She has always understood me, more than Dad ever tried to, and I miss her company terribly. Last summer, I had the chance to visit her in Rio and it was the most magical time of my life. We hit the best dance clubs, drank our livers to death, and passed out on every beach in the city.
I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but I’m happy that she’s thriving down there. We still talk whenever we get the chance, and sometimes on FaceTime I see glimpses of sorrow in her eyes when I mention Dad, and I know she misses him. Wishes that they were back together. I hate that he won’t ever discuss it.
I hop into the shower to wash off the conversation and slip into some comfortable clothes. After deciding that a nice, tummy-filling breakfast is in order, I head out of my room. Taped to my door is a note, and I peel it off, scanning its contents.
Out for a jog. Don’t follow.
—Kayden
At least he’s leaving notes now. Although they’re not very nice ones. I chuck the note into the bin and pass through the living room. Rustling sounds drift from the kitchen and my entire body stills.
If Kayden’s out, then who the hell is that?
Retreating to my room, I snatch the golf club stashed under my bed for emergency situations and grip it tightly as I slowly creep back into the living room. Whipping it back, I slowly inch closer to the kitchen, preparing for a nasty confrontation. A blonde-haired man has his back to me as he rummages through the kitchen cabinets.
Shit. He’s looking for things to steal!
The thought immediately kickstarts my impulses as I dart into the kitchen and swing the golf club at the intruder, aiming straight at his head. I wince when it makes contact with a loud thud.
“Ah fuck!” The man drops all the food he’s holding and groans in agony, his hands flying over his head.
“Hah! Take that, thief!” I yell, reeling the golf club back for another hit. “Don’t steal our shit!”
“What the hell—” the man rasps, holding his hands out in surrender before the weapon can descend on him. “I’m not a thief, you psycho!”
I stare at him, puzzled. Brent bolts out of the washroom when he hears the commotion and his jaw drops as he tries to register what’s just happened.
“What the hell is going on here?” he says, horrified.
“This guy broke into the apartment!” I raise my voice, swinging my head in the man’s direction. The man who is now on the floor, yelping in pain. “Give me your phone! I’m going to call the cops.”
“Oh my God. No.” Brent says frantically, reaching out to grab my wrist before I do anything else stupid. “He’s our friend.”
I glance over at the man, then back at Brent, confused.
“He’s not my friend.”
“He’s mine and Kayden’s friend,” Brent clarifies.
“What?” Kayden has never mentioned him before. “But—
” I stop abruptly and narrow my eyes. “Who let you guys in?”
The man glares at me. “We have the keys, idiot.”
I snatch my wrist away from Brent, glaring daggers at him. “Why do you have the keys to our apartment?”
Brent shrugs. “Because Kayden trusts us? And sometimes we hang out here when he’s not around.”
“Well, I live here now too! You guys can’t just barge in like this whenever you please!” I jab a finger at the not-thief, feeling absolutely mortified. “And you. I could have killed you!”
“You almost did.” He wheezes, and Brent has to help pull him up from the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, and shuffle to the refrigerator, trying to shake off the shock. “Let me get you an ice pack.”
I’m going to kill Kayden for not telling me about this. He could have at least warned me that his friends can come and go as they please.
“We’re sorry. We did text Kayden to let him know we were coming over. I guess you didn’t get the memo.” Brent follows me into the kitchen, looking remorseful.