Three days have passed since Taylor and I went to Tybee Island. Three days since I confessed sins I haven't shared with anyone else. Since she told me her secret. Since I captured her perfect lips with my own and was so caught up by the feel of her mouth moving against mine, her hands working along my jawline, that I felt like a beginner all over again. Like it was my first freaking kiss, minus the fumbling and awkward bits. Like Taylor Clarke could straight up own my soul if she wanted to.

That's a sobering thought.

Three days and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. Her long blonde hair that falls to the center of her back, the deep blue of her eyes and how they sparkle when she talks about something she loves, and the full pout of her mouth. But more than that, how she puts me at ease, makes me laugh, and how she focuses more on our conversations than on her Instagram account.

Three days and I'm dying inside because they feel like the longest three days of my life.

Two days ago, I called her up and asked her out on a real date. Truth, I fist pumped the air when she said yes. But our date isn't for two more days, and I'm too wrapped up in Taylor to focus on anything except counting down that time. I’ve been working crazy hours at Cork’s which has been a blessing in disguise since by the time I get home at night, I drop into bed, too exhausted to be restless.

"That goes in recycling." Daisy swoops in at the last second to grab the yogurt container from my hand before I trash it.

"Oh yeah."

"What is it with you lately? It's like your daydreaming all the time." She throws the container into the recycling bin on the back porch.

"Nah, nothing. Just busy at Cork’s. Tired."

She rolls her eyes, walking toward me and swiping my yogurt and granola bowl out from under my nose.

"I don't think so. You're usually pretty good at protecting your food," she comments, taking a large spoonful of crunchy granola. "You're like a prison eater."

"I am not."

"Who's a prison what?" Denver asks, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge. He pours the milk directly from the carton into his open mouth, gulping quickly.

Daisy rolls her eyes. "You guys are actually gross, considering you’re no longer in high school." She darts her spoon between us. "It's ridiculous."

"Who's in prison?" Denver asks again, replacing the milk carton and closing the refrigerator.

"No one," Daisy says, laughing, "I was just asking Carter what his deal is lately." She takes another bite of my breakfast.

Denver cuts me a look, his eyes scanning me over. "You look fine to me."

I chuckle, relaxing against the counter top. "Daisy, give me back my breakfast."

She shakes her head, moving to leave the kitchen. "Have a good day, slow poke."

After she exits the kitchen, Den turns toward me, his expression thoughtful. "Okay, for real, what's going on? You in any kind of trouble?" He rakes some flyaway pieces of hair behind his ears.

"No. Why?"

"Dais is right. You've been sort of...flaky."

"Flaky?"

Den sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I don't know what the hell the right word is. You're being weird. So you're either in trouble or..."

"Or?"

A slow smile works its way across his mouth. "Who is she?"

"Who?"

He laughs now, a quick bark that causes the silence of the house to jump. "The girl that's got you twisted up in knots."

I scowl. "There's no girl."

"Oh yeah, there's definitely a girl." He laughs again, the sound jarring due to its infrequent use. "I can't believe I didn't put it together sooner. Ah, well, who is she?" He pulls a frying pan out from the drawer under the stove and grabs a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

"There's no girl."

"Come on, kid. No sense in lying to your big brother." He cracks a few eggs in a bowl, whisking them together as the frying pan heats up.

I heave a heavy sigh, walking over to the butcher block island and sliding onto a bar stool to wait for Denver to cook me scrambled eggs like he did when we were kids. It's strange, actually, because for a moment, it seems just like that. Me at fifteen, wanting desperately to ask my big brother for advice about girls. Denver, grumbling to himself as he makes scrambled eggs for all us Kane siblings. This was before his stint at Jackson Penitentiary, before Jax enlisted, before Daisy went off to college.

"Carter?" Denver's voice breaks me from my nostalgia as he pours the eggs into the frying pan.

"I met her."

"Who?" He turns to look at me over his shoulder, a spatula in his hand.

"The girl I hit."

A look passes over his face. "A girl you what?"

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, so I can talk to Denver without sounding like the fifteen-year-old version of myself. "The girl Gunner and I got into the accident with. I saw her."

"Where?"

"Well, first I went to apologize to her when she was still in the hospital. And then, I ran into her taking a walk."

"Huh? What a small world."

We don't say anything for a few minutes as Denver finishes the eggs and slides a plate in front of me. I pick up my fork, but my stomach turns sour. Denver grabs another fork and stabs some eggs onto the end, lifting them to his mouth.

"Did you talk to her?"

I nod. "I was walking Marco, my little brother from the Big Brothers program, back from the park when he ran up to her and hugged her."

"He knows her?" Denver's eyes widen as he puts down his fork. That's how I know I've got his full attention; he interrupted his own eating.

"Yeah. She's really involved with the Big Brothers and Big Sisters program."

"I thought she was a model or actress or reality TV star or something."

"She was. Is. A model," I clarify.

"Shit," my brother whistles between his front teeth. "Did she recognize you?"

I nod again.

"And?"

"We went for a coffee at Kindred Spirits."

If Denver hadn't already put his fork down, this is the moment when it would have clattered loudly to his plate. "You took her for a coffee?"

"Yep."

"Are you crazy?"

I shrug.

"Holy shit. You like her?"

I close my eyes, exhaling loudly.

Denver's laugh is quick and harsh. "You like the girl you ran over."

"I wasn't driving!"

He shakes his head. "This would only happen to you."

"I know," I say miserably. Because he's right. It would.

"What're you going to do now?"

"We have a date this weekend." I shovel a forkful of eggs down my throat as Denver sputters speechlessly.

"A date?"

"Yep." I take a big gulp of orange juice.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Raf's."

Now, he really has nothing to say because he gawks at me like I'm an insect. Finally, he sneers. "Why?"

It's a fair question. Raf's is a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill from way back when that has a fairly nasty reputation, although it's a favorite among locals. Oddly enough, it was a request that came from Taylor, and I'll agree to anything she wants. "It's sort of an inside joke."

"You have inside jokes? I thought you went for coffee."

"And dinner at Cork’s. And Tybee Island."

"Holy shit." My brother whistles low under his breath. "You're dating her."

I shake my head.

"You are!"

"No, I'm not. I just wish I was."

He smiles then. A rarity in itself. But his whole face transforms, and he looks less scary and more cheerful than I've seen him in a long time. It's ridiculous really, but I grin back.

"I want to meet her."

"No."

"I'll swing by Raf's."

"Fuck off."

He chuckles now, the sound so low it almost doesn't count as a laugh. Holding his hands up in surrender, he aims for a compromise. "Fine, I'll come with you to Marco's baseball game today. Maybe she’ll be there, if she, you know, is as into you as you are her."

I flip him the middle finger and he chuckles again, but the strangest thing is, I kind of want Denver to meet her.

And that, wanting to introduce a girl to my family, is definitely a first.

I start the SUV and shove the gearstick in reverse to back out of my driveway when the back door opens and Jax slides inside.

"Hey," he says, grabbing his seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Beside me, Denver coughs.

"You've got to be screwing with me?" I spit over my shoulder as I ease the SUV onto the main road.

"I want to meet the girl you’re mooning over. She must be really special to even look at you twice after the way you met.”

"Fuck off!”

Both my brothers laugh, and I feel my anger ticking up. I swear, they mess with me for nothing more than a reaction. I try to steady my irritation that morphs into nerves with each block closer to the baseball diamond.

"Just don't do anything to embarrass me," I mutter.

"Yeah, yeah, like tell her about your obsession with your socks?" Jax offers.

"Or how you used to iron your jeans in high school?" Den snickers.

"I really hate you both."

Jax leans forward and messes my hair over the headrest. I shrug off his hand, relieved I have a baseball hat to pull on when we get to the park.

"Relax," Denver says, his voice low and measured, "we promise not to tell her about the time you were so wasted, you pissed on Meaghan Santor in bed."

"Oooooh." Jax throws out from behind me. "I almost forgot about that."

"I'll never forget about that." Denver smacks my shoulder.

I flip them both the middle finger and their laughter grows.

I bite back my own laugh at the memory, at Meaghan Santor's shocked expression, and at the hell my brothers gave me for months, years, afterwards.

Not that I'd ever admit it, but it's almost—almost—nice for them to be cracking on me so harshly. Because it means the three of us are together again, clowning around and acting like old times. And it's one of our last times to do so since Jax and Evie are leaving for Texas this Sunday.

I shake my head at their jokes and jabs, but inside I'm laughing with them.