Hendrix was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing away at a heavy duty pan he had used to make dinner that evening. I was a few feet away from him, carefully stacking the clean plates and glasses in the cupboard as I dried them. The evening had wound down, the usual chaos fading into the background as the house settled. The only noise came from clanking dishes, and Booker and Maverick bickering over whatever video game they were playing. While they were verbally assaulting each other, it was peaceful in comparison to the racing thoughts in my own head.

Since my text conversation with Miles that morning, I'd been trying to scrape together a plan to get my things. The best idea I could come up with was ordering an Uber to make the round trip. But every time I considered going over to the apartment Miles and I once shared, the knot in my chest tightened.

It wasn't just the awkwardness of seeing him again—it was the fear that he'd try to convince me to stay. Talk things out like we had so many times before. If I didn't have someone there waiting for me, would he be able to pull me back in?

Hendrix hummed a tune under his breath as he added another glass to the drying rack. Out of the corner of my eye I marveled at how he managed to single handedly keep this place afloat. Cooking dinner and cleaning up after three other grown men wasn't an easy feat. Especially when they ate enough food to feed a village.

I had experienced a sliver of that while living with Miles and Sean for a few short weeks. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. While it didn't seem very substantial on a calendar, it felt much longer. Balancing everything was difficult. Especially when Miles was very particular about when and what he wanted to eat.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts away, but they clung to me like a persistent fog. While these memories served as a good reminder as to why I shouldn't go back to them, I tried not to think about them until I was alone in the confines of my room. Miles had already dictated so much of my life. I wasn't about to allow him to take anymore of my energy.

I moved to grab a plate from the drying rack. But before I could get a good grasp on it my hand slipped, causing it to crash onto the floor with a loud, sharp shatter.

"Shit," I muttered, crouching down within the next moment to pick up the pieces.

Hendrix's voice came from behind me. "You okay, Celeste?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just...distracted," I said, trying to gather the larger shards into a pile.

It was just a plate, I tried to remind myself as I drew in a shuddering breath.

It was too late. The dark cloud loomed over me again. It whispered all the things that Miles had ever said to me. Promising it was all true. The same ideals that Maverick had repeated the day he found out I was moving into the Hockey House.

Drawing in a deep breath, I willed the negative thoughts away and hoped none of the other boys had heard the commotion. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to make a big deal out of it.

But, of course, Easton had left his laptop at the island and was kneeling down to help me within seconds.

"I don't want you cutting yourself. I'll take care of this," he said, his voice gentle.

"It's fine––"

Easton took the jagged piece from my hand. "Go put some shoes on."

Unlike the rest of the people who lived there, I didn't like to keep shoes on inside the house. Maybe it was just the way my parents raised me, but walking around outside and then trekking through the house felt wrong.

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded, standing up to give him more space.

"Thanks," I mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. It wasn't the dishware that bothered me—it was the fact that I'd let my thoughts get so tangled that I'd let it slip in the first place.

Using the excuse to collect myself, I retrieved my sneakers from the front closet. When I returned to the kitchen, I went back to checking on Easton. I rubbed at the back of my neck.

"Do you guys have a broom? I can go grab it."

There was a plastic grocery bag next to him now that he was dropping pieces of the plate into. He snickered. "It's in the garage, but we have our equipment airing out there. I don't think you want to get a whiff of that."

Hendrix shook his head at me. "You definitely don't want to expose yourself to the bio-hazard in there."

I shifted my weight between my feet for an elongated moment before heading back to my spot next to the sink, grabbing the damp tea towel off the counter. If they weren't going to let me help clean up my mess, then the least I could do was finish off what I started.

Hendrix's eyes lingered on me as I moved to get another plate from the drying rack. "You sure you're okay?"

I forced a smile, trying to play it off. "I'm fine, really. Just...a lot on my mind."

I hadn't formed any sort of relationship with any of the other guys yet. There would be no other way for him to know I was lying. Freaking out inside. There must have been something in my tone or expression because Hendrix didn't appear convinced.

He turned back to the sink, scrubbing at another item in the sudsy water. "You wanna talk about it?"

The question shouldn't have surprised me. Since I had moved in, Hendrix had made the greatest effort to get to know me. He wasn't pushy by any means, but there was a reserved curiosity that he held for me. I attributed that to his paternal nature.

Unlike Maverick who acted like I had contracted the plague.

I hesitated, glancing over at the living room where Booker and Maverick were still engrossed in their game. The last thing I wanted was to unload my drama, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I needed to talk to someone. Choosing Hendrix only seemed natural.

"I've been trying to figure out how to get my stuff back from my ex's apartment," I started, drying off another plate. "I messaged him this morning about helping me out by bringing everything over, but he refused and told me to figure it out."

"Sounds like an asshat." Easton's interruption had startled me––almost to the point where I dropped another plate. He must have gone into the garage while I was mindlessly drying again. He didn't add anything else to the conversation. Instead, he silently swept the remaining pieces of the broken plate into a bright red dustpan.

I brushed my tongue across my bottom lip. "His reaction is kinda fair. I avoided his texts and phone calls for the past week."

Hendrix added the last dish to the rack. "Why were you avoiding him?"

"I guess I was just putting off the inevitable," I admitted. "I'm worried he's going to try and talk me into moving back in with him or, at the very least, talk to me about everything that happened. I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Hendrix rang out the sponge in his hands, his expression thoughtful. "And you don't have a way to get your stuff back?"

"He did all the driving," I muttered, embarrassment flooding through me again. Could I sound any more pathetic? "I don't have my own car. And there's no way to carry everything back on my own. It's just...a lot."

I conveniently left out the part about Oliver, hoping that I wouldn't have to cross that bridge until I got to it.

It wasn't until the lull in our conversation that I realized that the arguments in the living room had ceased. I turned my head to see both Maverick and Booker staring at me.

"Did you catch that?" Hendrix called over his shoulder to his teammates.

Booker's controller was still in between his hands. "Just the tail end."

Hendrix flicked off the faucet. Now that the running water was off the Hockey House was uncharacteristically quiet. "Celeste needs to get her stuff from her ex's place," he explained before I could respond. "She's worried about going alone."

Booker's expression hardened. While I hadn't known him long, I had yet to witness him without a grin plastered on his face. It was the most serious I'd ever seen him. "You're not going alone," he stated, as if it were a foregone conclusion. "We'll go with you."

"You don't have to do that. It's really not a big deal," I started, trying to backtrack and sizzle out the situation. "Most of the stuff is replaceable. I can just—"

Before I could finish, the TV in the living room clicked off and Booker had tossed his controller onto the couch. It bounced once––finalizing the decision.

Easton, who had just finished cleaning up the last of the shattered plate, stood up and dusted off his hands. "Tate, can we take your truck? It'll be easier to load everything up in one go."

Hendrix dried his hands on a tea towel over his shoulder. "I was just about to suggest that."

Maverick hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. His face was hard, like sculpted marble as he tracked his housemates with dark eyes. He was probably pissed that I had impeded on his night and was once again causing an inconvenience to his life.

I swallowed. Great.

My problems were my own and I didn't want anyone else to have to put up with them. But as I looked around at my new housemates, I was filled with an unexpected sense of relief. These guys were jumping at the opportunity to help me and I had only known them for a few days. For as long as I could remember, despite being in a relationship, I had felt so alone. And now it was like the weight on my shoulders wasn't as heavy.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice quieter now as I regarded Easton as he washed his hands. "I don't want to drag you all into my mess."

Booker spoke up from across the island. "You're not dragging us into anything. We're volunteering."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I don't want to be a burden."

It was Easton's turn to speak now. "You're not a burden."

The conviction in his voice rocked me in a way that almost brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

Booker clapped, bringing me out of the hole I was slowly sinking into. "Let's get this show on the road," he took off towards the front foyer while shouting, "I call shotgun!"

Within moments everyone was abandoning what they were doing. I barely had time to process everything that was happening, but the familiar sense of dread began to bubble up in my stomach.

I was about to show up at my ex's place with a truck full of guys.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

Hi lovelies,

How are you doing? Anything new going on that you'd like to share? Just a reminder that if you'd like to read ahead you can do so over on Ream.

Have an amazing weekend!