Making the Move: Mill Street Series #2 Read online

  Making the Move

  Mill Street Series #2

  Jessica Calla

  Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Calla

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Edited by Erin Rhew Editing and Design

  Cover by Booked by Design

  ISBN-13: 978-1-733116-2-3 (Ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-7337116-2-7 (Ebook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7337116-3-0 (Print)

  ISBN-10: 1-7337116-3-5 (Print)

  Created with Vellum

  For Fiona Keane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Taking it Back (Mill Street Series #3)

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Calla

  Chapter One

  Josh

  Violet Nicholson was going to be the death of me.

  Rachel led me through the party to the basement of the loud, overcrowded frat house by one hand as I balanced my red Solo cup, filled to the rim, in the other. Weaving through the bodies, she yelled something over her shoulder about Violet being reckless and needing me.

  What else was new?

  This was quickly becoming my weekend routine—monitoring Violet as she got drunk and tried to hook up with the football players in my frat. I knew she was going through a tough time, and I cared about her too much to let her make the mistakes she seemed determined to make. No matter how much she fought me on it.

  Downstairs, the music wasn’t quite as loud, and the lights were dim. I squinted through the dark room as Rachel pointed toward the corner. There she was, like a little pixie, dancing in the middle of a circle of wolves.

  Chugging the rest of my beer, I tossed the cup and moved to the center of the circle. I covered the narrow width of her back with the palm of my hand and looked around.

  “Okay, she’s done. I’m calling it. Everybody move on.”

  The last thing I needed was to be forced to kick some guy’s ass for getting handsy with Violet. One of them stood up like he wanted to challenge me, but once he saw that I had about a hundred pounds on him, he backed away. With one false move, I’d have squashed him like a bug.

  Rachel disappeared as Violet stared up at me, her big brown eyes glassy. “What are you doing, Hunkarama?”

  Cringing at the nickname, I tugged her away and led her toward the stairs. The NJU football team charity calendar had made me Mr. January and captioned my picture “Hunkarama,” and now pretty much everyone called me that. February could not come soon enough. “I’m getting tired of this routine, Vi. You’re drunk. I don’t like the way they were looking at you.”

  She stood on her tiptoes, and I held her elbows to stop her from toppling over. “I’m just trying to relax. Have some fun.”

  “Relaxing and fun would be shopping with Rachel, or practicing your fiddle—”

  “It’s a violin—”

  “—not dancing like a stripper in the middle of a bunch of football players.” Knowing what would happen next, I crossed my arms and waited. Three, two…

  She poked my chest. “I hate you.”

  There it was. I knew better than to take offense at her words. “You’ll thank me in the morning. Trust me.” Grabbing her finger, I gave it a little squeeze. “They’ve been gone for a month. You have to get your shit together.”

  Violet had dated my roommate and best friend, Oliver, for five years until he dumped her on Christmas and ran off with her roommate, Taryn. In his defense, Violet had broken up with him first, when she had the opportunity to study at an orchestral academy in Vienna for eight weeks. Her efforts to get back together once she’d returned had fallen flat. Now Oliver and Taryn were in SoCal, living in some shack on the beach and loving life, while the rest of us assholes were in New Jersey covered in snow and picking up the pieces.

  “Why?” She pulled her finger out of my grasp. “Why do I need to get my act together?”

  “Because you need to graduate and move on.” I hated being the one to break this to Violet, but everyone else had been walking on eggshells around her since Ollie and Taryn left. I cared about her too much to lie to her.

  Her bottom lip started to quiver.

  “Fuck,” I said. “Don’t cry. Please. I can’t take it.” There was nothing I hated more than to see a woman cry. I was raised in a household of women—my mother, grandmother, and four sisters—and knew the power of female emotions. I could handle it all, except tears. The crying broke my damn heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she moaned as the first tear dropped. “I’m trying, I am.”

  With that, she fell into a neat little pile on the beer-sludged, frat house floor, right in the muck. I cringed, having witnessed the crap we cleaned off of it every Sunday. Squatting down next to her, I reached for her hand. “Violet, not the floor. Come on. Get up.”

  “No,” she sniffled. “I’m going to stay here and sleep for a while.”

  As she attempted to rest her head of dark curls on the ground, I scooped her up.

  “What are you doing?” she slurred, wiping at her eyes.

  I was doing what I’d always done. Keeping Violet in one piece and getting her through the weekend. “I’m bringing you home.”

  Her legs dangled over my forearms, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. “You’re going to carry me the whole way?”

  I blew out a long breath, acting more annoyed than I felt. “If you’re not going to walk and you’re going to act like a baby on the floor of the frat house, yes.”

  When I glanced at her face, she smiled, then rested her head on my shoulder. “I guess I don’t hate you anymore.” Her voice was soft and peaceful again.

  I growled something that sounded a little like, “You’re welcome,” as I carried her up the stairs.

  “Josh?” She lifted her head and I felt her warm breath on my neck.

  “Yeah?”

  When she didn’t answer, I stopped walking and met her gaze. Her watery eyes lasered into mine. “Will I ever feel normal again?”

  I touched my nose to hers. “I don’t know, Pix. ‘Normal’ may never be the same for either of us.”

  She pouted as she laid her head down, right in the crook between my neck and my shoulder, her curls tickling my cheek.

  Violet had been in my life for over three years, since Ollie and I were assigned as roommates freshman year. Sometimes, we’d chat or watch television while he studied. I’d make her laugh as she cooked him dinner or made his coffee,
and the entire time, I’d imagine what it would be like to be Ollie and have someone so perfect and beautiful who you knew you’d have for the rest of your life.

  In the past three years, I’d been with numerous women, but I’d been so jealous of Oliver the whole time because I’d fallen more in love with his girlfriend than he ever had.

  Now that they were broken up though, I only wanted her to get back to being herself. The talented violinist. The smart, sophisticated city girl with the upper-class upbringing who could brighten a room without even trying. The adorably sexy coed who, with one glance, could light a fire in me that didn’t smolder for anyone but her.

  But she was lost. As I carried her through the frat house, I was fairly certain the pixie in my arms, on a self-destructive quest to attract the entire male population of NJU, didn’t even realize how lost she was.

  So far, I’d been able to keep her off of my drunk frat brothers, but sooner or later, she’d find someone who’d be willing to take advantage of her shaky mental state. She’d been a disaster since Oliver and Taryn left, and I’d made it my life’s mission to take care of her until she figured out how to take care of herself.

  No matter what the task ended up doing to my heart.

  Violet

  I’d mastered Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart, but I couldn’t seem to master the day-after-the-frat-party hangover, no matter how many Sundays I tried.

  My head pounded as the coffee machine roared to life. I wasn’t sure why I was making coffee since I didn’t even want it.

  I texted Josh.

  Me: What’s the cure for a hangover again?

  When the cup was full and the machine sputtered out the last drops, my stomach churned from the smell. Maybe if I put milk in it? I shuffled to the fridge, freezing despite my flannel pajamas covered in my fleece bathrobe, and pulled out the milk. Sadly, there wasn’t much else in there.

  I sighed as Josh’s special ringtone dinged.

  Josh: Playing the fiddle.

  “Ha,” I said aloud to the empty apartment.

  Josh had been riding me to play again. Since I’d come back from Vienna, whenever I tried to pick up my violin, it reminded me of the time when everything went bad. I’d lost my two best friends—Oliver, who’d been in my life since birth and who’d comprised my entire future, and Taryn, my best girlfriend and roommate whom I never would have thought could’ve taken Ollie from me.

  After the break up, I’d tried to take the high road and let them go, but the high road hurt. The low road was a place where I could get drunk, have fun, and forget that my entire life was in ruins and my future was a giant pile of nonsense that I’d have to figure out.

  But neither Oliver nor Taryn were to blame for this hangover. It was all on me. Once again, I’d overdone it at a party. Once again, Joshua King had saved me. Josh had gone from taking care of Ollie to taking care of me, despite that fact that every weekend I begged him to let me loose on the world.

  We’re friends, Violet, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you, no matter how much trouble you try to get into. Ugh. Having Josh as a new best friend was like having my own personal bodyguard.

  I texted him again as I sniffed the milk carton.

  Me: Are you mad at me?

  No reply.

  I couldn’t blame him if he was, since I was an idiot who didn’t deserve a friend like him. I threw my phone down on the counter, poured the milk in the coffee, and added a few packets of Splenda because why not, and took a sip. I loved coffee, but when I almost hurled, I knew it wasn’t the answer for me today. After I dumped it down the drain, I dragged myself to the living room and flopped onto the couch.

  Even though I’d pushed Oliver away before I left for Vienna, once I was gone, I’d missed the sense of normalcy he’d provided. He’d been my life—my past and future—from the day I was born until a few weeks ago. It was hard to not have him in my present, giving me that sense of direction I craved.

  Like the time when we were six and our parents took us to one of those giant corn mazes out in the suburbs. I’d ended up lost and confused in the middle and started screaming because I didn’t know how to get out. Instead of finding my own way, I’d sat down on the ground and cried until Oliver saved me.

  Now I sort of felt like I’d been dropped into a maze again, and even though I sat there screaming, nobody could hear me.

  Giving up on the coffee and my attempts to help myself, I counted off the beats to the allegro pounding in my head and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Some time later, the chime of the doorbell jolted both me and my headache awake again.

  “Vi?” Josh yelled from outside.

  I lumbered toward the door, rubbing my temples. When I swung it open, I had to shield my eyes from the winter sun as I looked up at him. He was too tall and smiley for a freezing Sunday morning. A blue skull cap, that matched the color of his eyes, covered his blond hair. In one hand, he held up a steaming hot fast food bag that smelled like heaven. In the other, a giant-sized coffee cup.

  “Fries,” he said, shaking the bag. “Hangover cure.”

  “For me?”

  His gaze swept down my body, and he grimaced. “Looks like you need all the help you can get.”

  My mouth watered, so I ignored the insult. “You can have the coffee, but those fries? Come to Mama.” I reached for the bag.

  He pulled it back, holding it up over his shoulder. “Promises first.”

  I twisted my lips. “What kind of promises?”

  “First, you have to drink a lot of water today.” He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for me to respond.

  “Deal.” I reached for the bag again.

  This time, he held it over my head, out of my reach. “I’m tired of your weekend drinking. I’m not always going to be around to save you, you know.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re the Hunkarama. A superhero.” I jumped to grab the bag but only succeeded in making my head throb even more. “Come on, stop teasing. This is the first smell that’s worked for me this morning.”

  He glared down at me. “Answer this first. Why are you trying to get with the football team? Are you looking for a new boyfriend because—”

  “Oh God no.” I jumped up in another feeble attempt to grab the bag. “I was drunk and wanted to kiss someone. Is that a crime? The last thing I want is another man in my life. You said it last night—I’m a mess.”

  He squinted at me, then lowered the bag. “You’re not a mess.”

  I snatched it, sticking my nose inside and taking a deep breath. “Ah, salt and grease.”

  “Why do you do it?” he asked.

  My head swirled as I figured out what he was asking. I had no idea what I was looking for when I partied and flirted with the football team. I was screaming in the corn maze, trying to be heard. “It’s hard to psychoanalyze myself when I’m hungover. I don’t know. I just want to feel seen, I guess.”

  He squatted down so that we were nose-to-nose and stared at me with those baby blues. “I see you, Violet Grace Nicholson. And I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

  I leaned my forehead against his skullcap. “I know you do. Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “You got it, Pix.” He’d been calling me “Pixie” ever since I nicknamed him “Hunkarama” after his hot calendar photos.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  He was already halfway down the stairs when he stopped to face me. “I have to run, but I have some salt in the truck to spread on your stairs. They’re treacherous, and the alley’s slippery too. Be careful if you go anywhere.”

  I wasn’t going anywhere except back inside to shove fries in my face.

  “I’ll pick you up at five,” he called from the bottom.

  “Um…five?” I yelled, trying to act like I knew what he was talking about.

  “SuperGame party at Grant’s, remember? Rachel’s coming too.”

  Through gritted teeth, I exhaled a long sigh. Football wasn’t rea
lly my thing, and the National Football Organization’s Championship game wasn’t an event that inspired me to get dressed and leave the apartment. “Maybe I’ll skip.”

  He wagged his finger as he yelled up the stairs. “You’re coming. The SuperGame party needs superheroes, and superheroes need sidekicks.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t pretend you need me. You’ll be making friends in less than a minute.”

  He pointed up at me. “Five o’clock. I told Rachel four so she’ll be ready on time.”

  Rachel was always late and hardly ever went out. She’d be mad if I bailed too. “Oh fine,” I blurted, watching him pull a bag of salt out of the cab of his truck.

  He winked up at me, flashing his Mr. January smile. “Get inside. It’s cold. I’ll see you later.”

  With a wave, I stepped back into the apartment, wondering what to do with the eight hours I had to kill. Armed with my fries, I marched to the hallway, to the room previously occupied by my roommate. I pushed it open with my elbow, recoiling like the door was on fire when it swung open.

  The room looked the same as it had since they left a month ago. The bed was bare, the closet empty, but the memories lingered. Even though we’d only moved in for senior year in August, Taryn and I had had nice times in that room. I remembered sitting across from each other, a deck of cards between us, as she taught me how to play poker. How many times had I seen her in front of the closet, getting ready to go out—her beautiful face made up, her perfect, beauty queen body half naked as she tried on shirt after shirt, skirt after skirt? She was vibrant, gorgeous. Of course, Ollie would have see that too.