If There's No Tomorrow

Because sometimes happily-ever-after existed only in the books I read.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I was just about to crack the book open when I heard a soft rapping coming from the balcony doors. For a split second, I froze as my heart rate spiked. Then I hopped to my feet, dropping the book on my bed.

It could be only one person: Sebastian.

After throwing the lock, I opened the doors and there was no stopping the wide smile from racing across my face. Apparently there was also no stopping my body either, because I propelled myself through the threshold, arms and legs moving without thought.

I collided with a taller and much, much harder body. Sebastian grunted as I threw my arms around his broad shoulders and practically face-planted on his chest. I inhaled the familiar fresh scent of detergent his mom had been using since forever.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation from Sebastian as his arms swept around me.

There never was.

“Lena.” His voice was deep—deeper than I remembered, which was strange, because he’d been gone for only one month. But a month felt like an eternity when you saw someone nearly every day of your life and then suddenly didn’t. We’d kept in touch over the summer, texting and even calling a few times, but it wasn’t the same as having him here.

Sebastian hugged me back as he lifted me up so my feet dangled a few inches off the floor before he settled me back down. He lowered his head as his chest rose sharply against mine, sending a wave of warmth all the way to the tips of my toes.

“You really missed me, huh?” he said, fingers curling through the wet strands of my hair.

Yes. God, I did miss him. I’d missed him way too much. “No.” My voice was muffled against his chest. “I just thought you were the hot guy I waited on tonight.”

“Whatever.” He chuckled against the top of my head. “There was no hot guy at Joanna’s.”

“How do you know?”

“Two reasons. First, I’m the only hot guy that ever steps one foot into that place and I wasn’t there,” he said.

“Wow. Real modest, Sebastian.”

“I’m just speaking the truth.” His tone was light, teasing. “And second, if you thought I was someone else, you wouldn’t still be attached to me like Velcro.”

He had a point.

I pulled back, dropping my arms to my sides. “Shut up.”

He chuckled again. I always loved his little laughs. They were infectious, even when you were in a bad mood. You couldn’t help but smile.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until Saturday,” I said as I stepped inside my bedroom.

Sebastian followed. “Dad decided I needed to be back for the scrimmage game tomorrow night, even though I’m not playing. But he’d already worked everything out with the coach. You know how Dad is.”

His father was the stereotypical football-obsessed father who pushed and pushed and pushed Sebastian when it came to playing ball. So much so that I was downright shocked when Sebastian announced that they would be out of town while there was football practice. Knowing his dad, I bet he had Sebastian up every morning at the butt crack of dawn running and catching.

“Your mom’s asleep?” he asked as I closed the balcony doors.

“Yeah...” I turned around and got a good look at him now that he was standing in the light of my bedroom. As embarrassing as it would be to admit, and I would never admit it, I completely lost my train of thought.

Sebastian was... He was effortlessly beautiful. It wasn’t often you could say that about a guy...or about anyone, to be honest.

His hair was a shade somewhere in between brown and black, cropped close on the sides and longer on the top, falling forward in a messy wave that nearly reached dark brown eyebrows. His lashes were criminally thick, framing eyes that were the color of the deepest denim jeans. His face was all angles, with high cheekbones, a blade of a nose and a hard, defined jaw. A scar cut into his upper lip, just right of a well-formed Cupid’s bow. It had happened our sophomore year during football practice, when he’d taken a hit that had knocked his helmet off. His shoulder pads had caught him in the mouth, splitting the upper lip.

But the scar fit him.

I couldn’t tear my gaze from his basketball shorts and a plain white T-shirt as he glanced around my bedroom. When he was younger, back in middle school, he’d been tall, all arms and legs, but now he’d filled out in every way, with muscles on muscles and sculpting that rivaled Greek marble statues. Years of playing football would do that to a body, I imagined.

Sebastian wasn’t simply the cute boy who lived next door anymore.

We’d been doing this for years, ever since he figured out it was easier than going to my front door. He’d head out his back door and come into our backyard through a gate, and then it was a short walk up the steps that led to the balcony deck.

Our parents knew he could get to my bedroom this way, but we’d grown up together. To them—and to Sebastian—we were like brother and sister.

I also suspected they didn’t know the visits occurred at night. That hadn’t started until we were both thirteen, the first night my Dad was gone.

I leaned against the door, biting the inside of my cheek.

Sebastian Harwell was one of the most popular guys in school, but that wasn’t surprising. Not when he was gorgeous. Talented. Funny. Smart. Nice. He was in his own league.

He was also one of my best friends.

For reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, he made my bedroom appear smaller when he was in it, the bed too tiny and the air too thick.

“What in the hell are you watching?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he stared at the TV.

I looked at the screen. There was a guy with bushy, crazy-looking brown hair waving his hands around. “Um...Ancient Aliens reruns.”

“All righty, then. Guess it’s less morbid than the forensics show you watch. Sometimes I worry...” Sebastian trailed off as he faced me. His head tilted to the side. “Is that...my shirt?”

Oh. Oh my God.

My eyes widened as I remembered what I was wearing: his old freshman practice shirt. A couple of years ago he left it over here for some reason or another, and I kept it.

Like a stalker.

My cheeks flushed, and the blush raced down the front of my body. And there was a whole lot of body on display. The shirt hung off one shoulder, I had no bra, and I fought the urge to tug on the hem of the shirt.

I told myself not to freak out, because he’d seen me in bathing suits a million times. This was no different.

But it was.

“It is my shirt.” Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes as he sat on my bed. “Wondered where that went.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was suddenly petrified, plastered to the door. Did he think my wearing his shirt to sleep was weird? Because yeah, it was kind of weird. I couldn’t deny that.

He threw himself down on the bed, then immediately sat up. “Ow. What the hell?” Rubbing his back, he twisted at the waist. “Jesus.” He picked up my book and held it out. “You’re reading this?”

My eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“This thing could double as a weapon. You could hit me over the head with this thing, kill me and then end up on one of those shows you watch on Investigation Discovery.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a bit excessive.”

“Whatever.” He tossed the book to the other side of the bed. “Were you getting ready for bed?”

“I was getting ready to read before I was rudely interrupted,” I joked. Forcing myself away from the door, I slowly dragged my way over to where he was now stretched out on his side, lying there like it was his bed, cheek resting on his fist. “But someone, no names mentioned, is now here.”

His lips kicked up at the sides. “Want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He patted the spot next to him. “Come talk with me. Tell me everything I’ve missed.”

Ordering myself not to act like a complete dork, I sat on the bed, which wasn’t easy because of the shirt. I so did not want to flash him. Or maybe I did want to flash him. But he probably didn’t want that.

“You haven’t missed much,” I said, glancing at my bedroom door. Thank God I’d closed it already. “Keith’s thrown a couple of parties—”

“You went to them without me?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “My heart. It hurts.”

I grinned at him as I stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “I went with the girls. I didn’t go by myself. And so what if I did?”

The grin went up a notch. “Did he have any down by the lake?”

Shaking my head, I tugged on the hem of my shirt as I wiggled my toes. “No. Just at his place.”

“Cool.” When I looked over at him, his lashes were lowered. His free hand rested on the bed between us. His fingers were long and slender, skin tan from being outside all the time. “You do anything else? Go out with anyone?”

I stopped moving my toes, and my head swung back toward him. That was a random question. “Not really.”

An eyebrow rose as his gaze lifted to mine.

I quickly changed the subject. “By the way, guess who stopped in at Joanna’s tonight, asking about you?”

“Who wouldn’t stop by asking about me?”

I shot him a bland look.

He grinned. “Who?”

“Skylar. Apparently she’s been messaging you and you’ve been ignoring her.”

“I haven’t been ignoring her.” He reached up, knocking the flop of hair off his forehead. “I just haven’t been responding.”

A frown turned down the corners of my lips. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“What did she want?” he asked instead of answering.

“To talk to you.” I leaned back against the headboard and grabbed the pillow, thrusting it into my lap. “She said... She asked me to tell you that she was asking for you.”

“Well, look at you, doing as you’re told.” He paused, his grin increasing. “For once.”

I chose to ignore that comment. “She also said she thought breaking up with you was a mistake.”

His head jerked back and that grin faded. “She said that?”

My heart started pounding in my chest. He sounded surprised. Was that a happy surprise or bad one? Did he still care about her? “Yeah.”

Sebastian didn’t move for a second and then shook his head. “Whatever.” His hand moved lightning fast, snatching the pillow out of my lap. He shoved it under his head.

“Help yourself,” I muttered, tugging the shirt back up my shoulder.

“Just did.” He smiled up at me. “You have another freckle.”

“What?” I turned my head to him. Since I could remember, my face looked like it got hit with a freckle cannon. “There is no way you can tell if I have another freckle.”

“I can tell. Lean over. I can even show you where.”

I hesitated, eyeing him.

“Come on,” he coaxed, hooking his finger at me.

Inhaling a shallow breath, I leaned toward him. Hair slipped over my shoulder as he lifted his hand.

That grin was back, playing over his lips. “Right there...” He pressed the tip of his finger to the center of my chin. I sucked in air. His lashes swept down. “That’s a new one.”

For a moment, I couldn’t move. All I could do was sit there, leaning toward him with his finger touching my chin. It was crazy and stupid, because it was just the softest touch, but I felt it in every cell of my body.

He lowered his hand to the space between us again.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “You are... You are so stupid.”

“You love me,” he said.

Yes.

Madly. Deeply. Irrevocably. I could come up with five more adverbs. I’d been in love with Sebastian since, jeez, since he was seven and brought over the black snake he’d found in his yard as a gift. I don’t know why he thought I wanted it, but he’d carried it over and plopped it down in front of me like a cat bringing back a dead bird to its owner.

A really, truly weird gift—the type of gift one dude would give another dude—and that pretty much summed up our relationship right there. I was in love with him, painfully and embarrassingly so, and he mostly treated me like one of his guy friends. Had since the beginning and always would.

“I barely tolerate you,” I said.

Rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms out above his head, clasping his hands together as he laughed. His shirt rose, revealing his flat lower stomach and those two muscles on either side of his hips. I had no idea how he got them.

“Keep lying to yourself,” he said. “Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

He had no idea how close to the truth he was.

When it came to Sebastian and how I felt about him, all I did was lie.

Lying was another thing Dad had left me.

It was something he’d also been so, so good at.

CHAPTER THREE

It was too early for this crap.

Standing behind Megan, I was hoping I could just blend into the wall and be forgotten. Then I could lie down and take a nap. Sebastian had stayed till three in the morning, and I was way too tired to do anything remotely physical.

Coach Rogers, also known as Sergeant Rogers or Lieutenant First Class Jerk Face, crossed his arms. His face held a permanent scowl. I’d never seen him smile. Not even when we made it to the playoffs last year.

He was also the ROTC drill instructor, so he treated us like we were in boot camp. Today was going to be no different.

“Hit the bleachers,” he ordered. “Ten sets.”

Sighing, I reached up and tugged on the tail of my hair, tightening the ponytail as Megan bounced around, facing me. “Whoever finishes last has to buy the other a smoothie after practice.”

The corners of my lips turned down. “That’s not fair. You’re going to finish first.”

“I know.” Giggling, she tore off toward the indoor bleachers.

Reaching down, I tugged on my black practice shorts and then resigned myself to death by bleacher.

The team hit the metal seats. Sneakers pounded as we worked our way up. At the top row, I smacked the wall as expected. If we didn’t do it, we’d be starting all over. Back down I went, gaze focused on the rows in front of me as my knees and arms pumped. By the fifth round, the muscles in my legs burned, along with my lungs.

I almost died.

More than once.

Once it was over, my legs felt like jelly as I joined Megan on the court. “I’d like a strawberry banana smoothie,” she said, her face flushed pink. “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” I muttered breathlessly as I glanced over to the bleachers. At least I wasn’t last. I twisted back to her. “I’m getting McDonald’s.”

Megan snorted as she fixed her shorts. “Of course you are.”

“At least I’m eating eggs,” I reasoned. I’d probably have a hell of a lot toner legs and stomach if I got that smoothie after practice instead of the Egg McMuffin and hash brown I was planning to do bad, bad things to.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think those kind of eggs count.”

“That’s sacrilegious to even utter.”

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” she replied.

“I don’t think you know when to shut up.”

Tipping her blond head back, Megan laughed. Sometimes I wondered how we’d become such close friends. We were polar opposites. She didn’t read unless it was flirting tips in Cosmo or the weekly horoscopes in the magazines her mom had around the house. I, of course, read every book I got my hands on. I was going to be applying for financial aid, and she had a major college fund. Megan ate McDonald’s only if she’d been drinking, which wasn’t often, and I ate McDonald’s so much I was on a first-name basis with the lady who worked the window in the morning.

Her name was Linda.

Megan was more outgoing than me, more willing to try new things, while I was the person always weighing the pros and cons before doing something, finding more cons than there were pros to almost every activity. Megan seemed years younger than seventeen, oftentimes acting like a hyper kitten climbing curtains. She was downright goofy half the time. But what seemed like cluelessness was only surface deep. She was an ace at math without even having to try. On the outside, she appeared to take nothing seriously, but she was as bright as she was bubbly.

We both planned—or hoped—to get into UVA, prayed that we’d get housed together and strived to give Dary the hardest possible time, with love, every day of our lives.

Deciding I was going to order two hash browns and eat them right in front of her face, I cut in front of her as we walked to where our captain was waiting.

Practice was grueling.

Since it was preseason and a Friday, it was all calisthenics. Lunges. Squats. Suicide sprints. Jumps. Nothing made me feel more out of shape than these kinds of practices. I was dragging ass by the time we wrapped up, sweating in places I didn’t even want to think about.

“Seniors, I need you guys to stick around for a few minutes,” Coach Rogers called out. “Everyone else can head out.”

Megan shot me a look as we lumbered to our feet. My stomach ached a little from the sit-ups, so I concentrated on not bending over and crying like a teething baby.

“Our first game is a couple of weeks off, as is our first tournament, but I want you all to make sure you realize how important this season is.” Coach straightened his cap, pulling the bill down. “This isn’t just your final year. This is the time that scouts will be coming to the tournaments. Many of the colleges here in Virginia and surrounding states are looking for freshman players.”

Pressing my lips together, I loosely crossed my arms. A volleyball scholarship would be sweet. I wanted one. Was going to gun for it, but there were better girls on the team, including Megan.

The likelihood of both of us landing positions at UVA was slim.

“I cannot stress how important your performance will be this season,” Coach droned on. His dark gaze lingered on me in a way that made me feel like he’d noticed just how crappy my sprints had been. “You’re not going to get a do-over. You’re not going to get second chances to impress these scouts. There isn’t a next year.”

Megan’s gaze slid toward mine and her brows lifted about an inch. This was a wee bit dramatic.

Coach went on and on about good life choices or something, and then he was done. Dismissed, our group made our way toward the remaining burgundy-and-white gym bags.

Megan bumped her shoulder into mine as she reached to grab her water from the top of her bag. “You kind of sucked today.”

“Thanks,” I replied, mopping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I feel so much better after hearing that.”

She grinned around the rim of the bottle, but before she could respond, the coach yelled out my last name. “Oh crap,” Megan whispered, widening her eyes.

Swallowing a groan, I pivoted around and jogged over to where he was standing near the net we often had to repeatedly jump in front of. When Coach used your last name, it was a lot like your mom using your full name.

Coach Rogers’s neatly trimmed beard was more salt than pepper, but the man was fit and more than intimidating. He could run those bleachers in half the time Megan could, and right now he looked like he wanted to order me to do another set of ten. If he did, it would be RIP Lena.

“I was watching you today,” he said.

Oh no.

“Didn’t look like your head was in practice.” He crossed his arms, and I knew I was in for it. “Are you still working at Joanna’s?”

Tensing because we’d had this conversation before, I nodded. “I closed last night.”

“Well, that explains a lot. You know how I feel about you working when you have practice,” he said.

Yes, I did know. Coach Rogers didn’t think anyone who played sports should work, because work was a distraction. “It’s just during the summer.” That was kind of a lie, because I planned to work weekends during the school year. I needed to keep my McDonald’s fund fluffy, but he really didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m sorry about practice. I’m just a little tired—”

“A lot tired by the looks of it,” he cut in with a sigh. “You were forcing yourself through every set.”

I guess I wasn’t going to get credit for that effort.

He lifted his chin and stared down his nose at me. Coach was a beast during practice and the games, but most days I liked him. He cared about his players. Really cared. Last year, he organized a fund-raiser for a student whose family lost everything in a house fire. I knew he was against animal cruelty, because I saw him wearing ASPCA shirts. But right now, in this moment, I did not like the man at all.

“Look,” he continued, “I know things are tight at home, especially with your father... Well, with all of that.”

Clenching my teeth until my jaw ached, I fixed a blank expression on my face. Everyone knew about my dad. It sucked living in a small town.

“And you and your mom could use the extra cash—I get that—but you really need to look at the big picture here. Take these practices more seriously, dedicate more time, and you can up your playing this year. Maybe catch the eye of a scout,” he said. “Then you get a scholarship. Less aid. That’s what you need to be focused on—your future.”

Even though I knew he meant well, I wanted to tell him that my mom and I and my future were really none of his business. But I didn’t say that. I just shifted my weight from one foot to the next, picturing the greasy hash brown in my head.

Oh my God, I was going to smother that baby with ketchup.

“You have talent.”

I blinked. “Really?”

His expression softened a bit as he clapped a hand down on my shoulder. “I think you have a shot at landing a scholarship.” He squeezed gently. “Just keep your eye on tomorrow. Work for it, and there’ll be nothing standing in the way. You understand?”

“I do.” I glanced over to where Megan waited. “A scholarship would be... It would help a lot.”

A way lot.

It would be nice not to spend a decade or more after college working myself out of student-loan hell I’d already been warned about.

“Then make it happen, Lena.” Coach Rogers dropped his hand. “You’re the only person standing in your way.”

* * *

“I don’t care what you say, Chloe was the better dancer!” Megan shrieked from where she was perched on the edge of my bed. I expected her hair to rise and turn into snakes at any given moment, to snatch out the eyeballs of anyone who disagreed with her.

Okay, maybe I was reading way too much fantasy lately.

“We seriously can’t be friends if you disagree!” she added vehemently.

“It’s not a question of who is a better dancer, but I personally think you’re going with the ‘blondes have to stick together’ route.” Abbi was sprawled on her belly on top of my bed. Her hair was a mess of tight, dark curls. “And honestly, I’m Team Nia.”

Megan frowned as she threw up her hands. “Whatever.”

My phone rang on my desk, and when I saw who it was, I sent the call to voice mail without even thinking twice.

Not today, Satan.

“Y’all really need to stop watching reruns of Dance Moms.” I turned back to my closet and restarted my search for a pair of shorts to wear on my shift. Smothering a yawn, I wished I had time for a nap, but Megan had come over after practice and I had only about an hour before I had to head to work.

“You look tore up from the floor up,” Abbi commented, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking about me. “Did you not sleep last night?”

“Wow. Thanks,” I responded, frowning. “Sebastian came home last night, so he stopped over and stayed for a while.”

“Ooh, Sebastian,” cooed Megan, clapping her hands. “Did he keep you up all night? Because if so, I’m going to be upset that you didn’t mention this earlier. I’m also going to want details. All the dirty, juicy details.”