Forgotten Rules: A Brother's Best Friend Romance Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Eliah Greenwood

  www.eliahgreenwood.com

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, the book has been pirated and you are committing a crime. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy. Love to read? YOU make a difference in your favorite authors’ capacity to keep writing and provide you with books you enjoy.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Warning: This book is not a dating guide and contains graphic scenes and foul language. Read at your own risk.

  Photographer: Alexis Brooke Clark (@so.picture.this)

  Models: Cassidy Bryn Johnson (@casbryn) and Joshua Johnson (@the.josh.johnson)

  ISBN: 978-1-9994390-8-8

  Editing by One Love Editing

  First printing edition 2020

  Reality Survivor Publishing (Eliah Greenwood)

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Connect with Eliah

  Also by Eliah Greenwood

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To whoever is afraid to try that new thing and fall…

  What if you fly?

  Will

  Oxygen.

  A necessity we take for granted.

  Humans can be ungrateful sometimes, so focused on one wrong, we forget the million rights. I used to think I was the exception. Grew up cursing the lucky bastards who don’t appreciate what they have.

  Because the little things aren’t little.

  And their oceans of problems?

  They’re puddles.

  But as I lie on the ground, lungs full of smoke, head spinning out of control, I know I’m one of them. The ungrateful bastards.

  Turns out I never realized how much I liked breathing. And I’d kill for a breath of fresh air right now.

  Get up, Will. Get the hell up!

  I can’t move, slipping away, choking on her name. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  I wonder what they’ll say when they find my body. Probably “What kind of moron runs into a raging fire?” And if I make it out, I should tell them:

  The kind that lit the fire in the first place…

  Kassidy

  I once read that airports have seen more sincere kisses than wedding halls. I don’t know when—much less where—but it stuck with me, and from that day forward, I always wondered about the strangers saying goodbye to their loved ones.

  My gaze drifts to the woman battling tears as she pecks her partner on the mouth. The man pulls back, gasps at his watch, and rushes off. Dabbing her eyes with her sleeve, she watches him dissolve into the crowd.

  Maybe her husband’s just been deployed. Maybe he’s leaving for a business trip, but she knows his “business” is blonde, twenty-four, and a yoga instructor. Or… maybe she just realized she missed the finale of The Bachelor.

  Yeah, I like that option better.

  So many stories that will never be told.

  So many words that will never be written.

  I’m sure, in a way, that’s a good thing. Real stories can be a little too real for readers sometimes. No happy endings, no fairy tales, no promises of everlasting love. And life’s hard enough as it is, right? We don’t want your depressing reality. Give us our happily ever after and babies.

  But what if… the words we’ll never get to read are the words we need the most?

  In an attempt to glimpse above the never-ending stream of people, I hop from one foot to the other. I still don’t see anything—well, except for the bald spot on the man in front of me. My brother, Kendrick, mocks my fiddling, eyes glued to his phone.

  Today is the day.

  The day Winter, my cousin from Canada—yeah, the irony isn’t lost on me either—is moving in with us. Aunt Lauren shipped her over to my mom while she’s away on a work trip with Uncle Harry.

  Winter will be staying with us until graduation in a few months. To her greatest misery, might I add. Last I heard, she would’ve preferred ripping out her own hair one by one than completing her senior year in Florida.

  When told the news, my brother gave my mom a shrug with a careless “Okay.” But me? I was over the moon. Winter’s the fun cousin you can’t wait to see at family gatherings, the relative you’d go as far as to call a friend. She and Aunt Lauren visit from Toronto every summer—or at least, they used to. They couldn’t make it last year.

  I missed my snarky cousin, and it sure won’t hurt having another girl around until I go away for college. Me and Mom can’t possibly compensate for all the testosterone my dickhead of a brother and his two-brain-cells friends drag back home every week.

  I’m hoping Winter’s presence will buffer this burning need I have to move to a deserted island away from the male species. And by “male species” I mean the herd of baboons Kendrick spends all his time with—Blake Nichols, Alexander Holmes, and William Martins, also known as the banes of my existence. Still working on that petition to get them transferred to the local zoo.

  Maybe with Winter here, I’ll even have someone to confide in about how out of control Kendrick’s gotten since Dad left. What I mean by out of control, you ask?

  Oh, boy, where do I start?

  I recently found out my big bro decided to trade his video games violent fights for illegal, high-paying, very real street fights. I overheard him and his dumbass friends talking about it in the kitchen one night. They thought the house was empty—not that I can blame them. Mom was working a night shift at the hospital again, and I was supposed to be sleeping at a friend’s place.

  They were laughing, bragging about how much cash they’d made in the ring, throwing back the beers Dad left in the garage before he skipped town—special mention to Daddy dearest for taking off with his kids’ bleeding hearts but leaving the booze.

  Kendrick told the guys the fights helped him control his anger. I confronted him the next day. “How on earth does destroying people’s faces help you control your anger?” I asked. “Drop it, Kass. You wouldn’t understand,” he answered.

  In Kendrick’s defense, I don’t think there are many great ways to react to your father walking out on you without a goodbye, but news flash: I got abandoned, too, and I don’t go around breaking noses for fun.


  Kendrick made me promise not to tell our mom. And I didn’t. But not because I wanted to protect him—not by a freaking long shot. Because I wanted to protect her. She’s been through hell and back these past few months, juggling the divorce and becoming a single mother overnight. No way was I adding on to her plate.

  And while I may not care to ask questions, as I’d rather eat Brussels sprouts for the rest of my life than get involved in my brother’s drama, I have a feeling this street fight BS is way bigger than Kendrick would like to admit. It might’ve started out as a way to channel his anger, but now?

  It’s more.

  Much more.

  Impatient, I pull out my phone to check the time. Winter should be here any second. She’s been sending me memes from the plane—you guessed it, her flight was boring. But not as boring as the lady next to her who thought showing a perfect stranger pictures of her cat for two hours straight was a good idea.

  I crack a smile.

  Been there, done that.

  I’ve always been the Universe’s favorite target when it’s bored. I just have one of those faces, I guess. You’d think someone smacked “Talk to me when I have earphones in both ears. That means I’m interested” on my forehead. While we have that in common and a rare fluency in this advanced language called Sarcasm, my cousin and I are overall very different.

  Winter is eighteen and one year older than me, like Kendrick, but we’re in the same grade as I started school early. She’s also more of a “Go with the flow” kind of gal.

  I, on the other hand, have spent my entire life preparing and planning ahead. I can’t let go of control no matter how hard I try, and my big brother loves to remind me of my controlling tendencies every chance he gets.

  I got it from our dad, who made the drilling of his life mantra into my brain a priority: “You don’t just get your dream job like me by leaving things to chance, Kassidy. Only losers believe in Destiny. Winners believe in odds and hard work.”

  Pretty ironic that my father turned out to be the one thing I couldn’t have control over.

  “How much longer?” I huff.

  “Chill. She’ll be here,” Kendrick drawls, tearing his eyes away from his phone when mine pings with a text.

  Zoey: I need you. CODE RED!!!!

  My lips tip into a smile. Meet Zoey Michaels, expert drama queen, in love with love, vegan who forgets she’s vegan when she wants a burger and—drum roll—my childhood best friend.

  “What’d the idiot do this time?”

  I flick my head to see Kendrick peeking over my shoulder without a splinter of shame.

  “Really?” I clutch my phone to my chest.

  “She dumped his ass yet?” he asks.

  “No, of course your brother isn’t annoying, Kass,” I mumble under my breath. “Said no one ever.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He beams.

  Technically, he’s wrong.

  I could blame him. You see, my brother and I have only ever had one sibling rule: no dating, looking, or breathing near your sibling’s friends.

  Ever.

  In another world, I’d have a right to be pissed at him for crushing on Zoey. But… in this one?

  In this one, I broke the rule first.

  You know the awkwardness that occurs when you’re forced to see someone you dated after breaking up? That cringeworthy moment that makes you want to crawl under a rock and never come out?

  That’s what I’ve had to deal with every single day for weeks now. In my own house, as if it weren’t bad enough. If you think running into your ex in public is bad, try coming home to find him on your couch.

  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my ex-boyfriend and biggest waste of time: Blake Nichols.

  Yes, as in the Blake I mentioned earlier. Brother’s friend, dark hair, muscled—you get the idea. I should’ve known he was trouble with a capital T from the first time I saw him. Kendrick had me beat in that department. He knew Blake was bad news from the get-go and strictly forbade me to date him.

  Then there’s Alex.

  The only genuinely nice guy out of all my brother’s buddies. He’s kind, respectful, the “mom” of the group if you will—I mean, if moms had rock-hard abs and striking green eyes.

  I know Alex to have grown up with two younger sisters and overly strict, loaded parents, which raises the question of how the guy with a picture-perfect life ended up dislocating jaws for money.

  Illegal habits aside, Alex is a perfect gentleman who’s only ever had a few girlfriends, as opposed to Blake, who got around more than the seasonal flu. Alex is the only guy my brother deemed Kass-boyfriend material, and so Blake and I came up with a plan.

  After weeks of begging, we got Alex to cover for us. I pretended to date him, asking Kendrick to drop me off at Alex’s, only to go to Blake’s the second his car dashed down the street. I was so naive back then, so certain what Blake and I had was love. Until our “love” was murdered by a three-word text.

  We’re done. Sorry.

  Blake ended our six-month relationship over text exactly two weeks ago. Alex told us he was done lying, and if Blake wanted to be with me, he had to put his big-boy pants on and tell Kendrick the truth. Blake decided he’d rather drop the whole thing than get his balls chopped off.

  We haven’t said a word to each other since.

  Do I feel bad about breaking the sibling rule? Let’s just say the fact that my brother has always had a very public crush on my best friend sure helps me sleep at night. I don’t doubt for a second he would’ve broken the stupid rule in a heartbeat if Zoey was single.

  Lucky for me, she has a boyfriend: Sean, some college guy with a big house, a big wallet, and an even bigger ego to match.

  When they first started dating, Zoey would go on for hours about how much better older guys were. Turns out the only thing Sean excels at is sitting on his parents’ couch playing video games.

  They’ve been on and off for a solid year. These two break up like they breathe, and I’ve stopped counting the times she’s sent me this exact text asking to come over after they had a fight.

  I type a quick reply.

  Kass: Can’t. My cousin arrives today. I told you.

  A few seconds go by.

  Zoey: So??? Bring her.

  Kass: But I promised I’d show her around town.

  Zoey: You can show her around tomorrow. Today we’ll show her a box of tissues and The Notebook.

  Kass: Thanks but no thanks.

  Zoey: Pleaseee. It’s really over this time. I’m never getting back together with him.

  Kass: I’m never going to eat cake again.

  Zoey: Huh?

  Kass: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were listing things we lie to ourselves about.

  Zoey: Not funny.

  Zoey: U coming over or what?

  Kass: *sighs* You’re lucky I love you.

  Zoey: YAY! Bring popcorn.

  Kendrick nudges me with his elbow, and I look up, smiling at the sight of my cousin scanning the crowd.

  “Winter!” Kendrick waves. Her face lights up, and she hurries over, carry-on bag hanging off her shoulder and suitcase rolling by her side. Letting her luggage hit the floor, she walks straight into our arms.

  “How was your flight?” I ask when we break away.

  She crinkles her nose. “Almost threw the lady showing me pictures of Romeo the cat out the window, but good.”

  Kendrick laughs, picking up Winter’s bag with one arm and banding the other around her neck to tousle her hair. Making our way through the commotion, we answer my cousin’s million questions about her substitute home for the following months.

  “Oh, and some American guy on the plane made fun of the way I say sorry. Rude much?” She frowns, her Canadian accent drawing a chuckle from me. A piece of the family has been missing this past year.

  But now?

  We’re whole.

  “Yeah, well…” Kendrick smiles. “Welcome to America.”

 
Kassidy

  I’m bursting into Zoey’s one-bedroom apartment an hour later. Nudging the door closed with my elbow, I kick off my shoes and steer a course to the living room. The first thing I see when turning the corner is Zoey’s floor, covered in a ridiculous amount of mascara-tinted tissues.

  Eh. The usual.

  On the ground, sitting on a throw up of pillows and blankets are Zoey and my other best friend, Morgan. A bowl of popcorn rests between them—let me rephrase, a bowl in which popcorn should be rests between them. The popcorn in question is all over Morgan’s hoodie. Morgan, being Morgan, keeps trying to catch popcorn into her mouth and failing until the floor is covered.

  These two are my ride or die. I have no idea how I would’ve made it to senior year without them. I met Morgan freshman year, while I’ve known Zoey since kindergarten, but it feels like the three of us have known each other our whole lives.

  “Came as fast as I could,” I pant.

  Morgan snorts. “Hey, Zoey. Bet that’s what your ex-boyfriend said.”