Mags is doubled over, gasping for air, laughing, while he combs his long fingers through his messy midnight-brown curls, blinking up at me sleepily.
"Are those panties new?" Kiwi drawls. "Love the color, Roe-Roe. Brings out your eyes."
"Argh!" Pulling the pillow out from under his head, he flops down. I throw it at his face. "What are you doing in my bed?" I fake outrage. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before. Hell, Kiwi and I have probably shared the same bed more than I have slept alone. But I don't like surprises, and he knows that. I didn't expect to find my best friend in my bed this morning.
"I drove with you home, remember? It was way too late, so I crashed here," he mumbles while he rubs his eyes.
"Plus, you asked him to stay," Mags adds helpfully. "Oh, and I agree with our bestie on your attire. You didn't tell me you finally went to Victoria's Secret." She slaps my ass before walking out.
I yelp at the sting and take a step forward. My foot tangles in a pair of jeans—the massive pile seemingly containing Kiwi's shirt and pants as well—and I stumble, hitting my shin on the bed frame.
"Fuck!"
Losing balance, I ungracefully land on top of the guy in my bed.
"Roe-Roe, you could've just asked for a hug. You know I always oblige," he laughs and wraps his arms around me.
I let my forehead rest on his collarbone. "I drank last night, didn't I?"
He squeezes me tighter. "Yes, you did."
Now that the sleepy haze is gone, bits and pieces are coming back. After I admitted my colossal fuckup to my two best friends, Mags made Grizz bust out a bottle from his private stash—the good stuff, as we call it.
I hardly ever drink, which results in me having zero tolerance. I get trashed from one beer, and whatever Grizz produced must've been much more potent than the 105 proof we serve our customers.
Growing up, I didn't have the luxury of being a regular teenager. I didn't go to parties or sneak out with my friends after raiding our parents' liquor cabinet. I never built up a tolerance. By the time my classmates reached that age, I had two jobs and took care of my sick mother. Neither allowed me to have any free time until I finally decided to drop out of school altogether. It was that or be homeless—Mom couldn't work anymore. Finishing my high school degree at a later date seemed the reasonable solution.
It wasn't always like that, though. The first half of my life wasn't so bad. I'd had the best mom. She was always there for my sister Rae and me. She made sure we were clothed and fed, put little notes in my lunch bag, the whole nine yards. I never felt not loved.
Dad…that was a whole different story. He wasn't around much, and we were used to it just being the three of us most of the time. Then, on my seventh birthday, he left for good. Thinking back, I don't understand how my mother didn't see it coming; the signs were all there. Digging through my muddled childhood memories now, it was clear as day. But she loved him with every fiber of her being, which was why it destroyed her when the realization hit that he would not return this time. He was gone.
It took almost a year before my shell of a mother was semi-functional again. She continued to go to work, but Rae, who was older than me, became my stand-in mother. She took a part-time job to help pay the bills and made sure I would go to school. When Mom wasn't buried in her two minimum-wage jobs, she would lock herself in her bedroom and cry herself to sleep. Even between her working herself to death and Rae helping out, our power still got shut off every other month. If it hadn't been for Kiwi and his grandmother, who lived in the apartment below ours…well, you can probably guess.
Mom did her best, and I will always be grateful. Sadly, Rae didn't see it that way. She and Mom never got along, which I didn't understand until years later—the day I buried my mother next to my father.
Four years after we lost Dad, Rae left as well. She had put her life on hold long enough, as she declared in the letter I found on her bed one day in fifth grade after coming home from school.
At age eleven, it made no sense to me. How could they both have left us? In a completely different manner, but they were gone nonetheless. How could one just abandon their family? That night, Mom crawled into my twin bed with me, hugged me tight, and told me that, no matter what, we'd be okay. We always had each other—always being seven more years. Then, she left me as well, and all I had was Kiwi.
He's been with me ever since, followed me wherever I went. The only time we were apart was when I was moving around, but once I settled into my new home, he packed his belongings and showed up within a week.
"You seemed to have slept okay?" My best friend's question brings my attention back to the present.
With my hands stacked, I prop my chin on top and peer into his brown eyes. I smile softly at him. He knows me too well. "I did." After a pause, I add, "You know I always sleep better when you're with me. Even when I have no clue you're in my bed." I wink at him teasingly.
His brow furrows. "Roe-Roe, how bad is it?"
Instead of answering, I avert my gaze and stare at the wall beside the bed.
"King." He tries to get my attention by using my actual name, but I refuse to look at him. He would see immediately that I hadn't been able to sleep through the night in weeks.
"Kingsley Monroe." Kiwi's tone is hard, commanding, and a lone tear runs down my face.
"Awww, shit, sweetie." His arms tighten around me, and I return his embrace. Shoving my hands between his back and the mattress, I sob into his chest.
He lets me cry myself out. Between not getting enough rest and Wes being aware of me since last night, my emotions are all over the place. I hate it. Kingsley Monroe is not whiney or vulnerable. I buried that girl with my mother four years ago. Kiwi was there, at my side.
I sniff one final time and lock eyes with Devon "Kiwi" Kiwinski—the last link to my past.