All My Firsts: Up in the Treehouse, Center of Gravity, Weight of Regret, page 1
contents
Up in the Treehouse
Prologue
I. Graduation Night
1. Mistakes (part one)
2. The Treehouse, The Bully, & Breaking Benjamin
3. Mistakes (part two)
4. No Sex In The Treehouse
5. Destroyed
6. Darkness (part one)
7. Up In The Treehouse
8. Darkness (part two)
II. FOUR YEARS LATER
9. Bonney Lake, WA
10. Reunion
11. Chloe Rivers
12. Losing Light
13. Too Much, Too Soon, Too Late
14. Walking Away
15. The Confrontation
III. SECOND CHANCES
16. Coping
17. Lucky Clover
18. Like Old Times
19. Teamwork
20. Fro-Yo
21. Star-Struck
IV. REBUILDING
22. Tinkering Around
23. Angels Fall
24. Friendship Spooning
25. Detox
V. DEAR CHLOE
26. Chloe’s Journal
27. Never Stopped
28. Chloe’s Journal
29. Almost Home
30. Chloe’s Journal
31. That Night
32. Chloe’s Journal
33. Surviving
34. My Favorite Day
35. Significance
36. Of All People
VI. STAY AND PLAY
37. Scrunch Buns & Band-Aids
38. Stay
39. My First, My Last, My Only
40. Reservations
VII. GISELLE
41. Bad Weather
42. Confessions
43. Costumes
44. Celebration
45. Time
VIII. HEROES & LEGENDS
46. Reflection
47. Moving On
48. Every Single Day
49. Dance With Me
50. Loving Me
Epilogue
Center of Gravity
Dear Reader,
Video Playlist
cen·ter of grav·i·ty
Part One - Audition
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
Part Two - Rehearsals
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
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Part Three - Vegas
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue - Six Months Later
Epilogue
Weight of Regret
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
Dear Reader,
Connect with me
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About K.K. Allen
copyright
This collection consists of works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by K.K. Allen
Cover Design: K.K. Allen
Editors: Shauna Ward and Red Adept
Formatting: K.K. Allen
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
For more information, please contact K.K. Allen at SayHello@KK-Allen.com
To first loves.
up in the treehouse
prologue
The best kind of love is one that stems from friendship. One that grows as it's nurtured with patience and kindness, blossoming at just the right time. All it has to do is withstand the forces of nature that threaten to drown it, pluck it, blow it, and burn it until it withers back into its soil. As if it never existed at all.
BRANCH ONE
graduation night
“SOMEBODY TOLD ME THAT THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE EVERYTHING'S BETTER, EVERYTHING'S SAFE.” ~ WALK ON THE OCEAN, TOAD THE WET SPROCKET
CHAPTER ONE
mistakes (part one)
CHLOE
His face twists, resembling an old string of holiday lights most would have given up untangling years ago. It's a messy, broken, and hopeless jumble of old memories…one that, for some reason, I can't bring myself to throw out. Just like my relationship with Devon Rhodes.
Devon raises every red flag that exists, yet he could charm the pants off you and make you forget the difference between a red flag and a white one. He’s the type of guy who bends and breaks the rules because the rush is more than worth the risk. The one who’s always sworn he would never be in a committed relationship because—well, what's the point? The kind of guy—with his million and one problems, his dangerously good looks, and his strength that terrifies me—who somehow chose me. Now he's my string of hopeless holiday lights to deal with, but I can't seem to drum up the strength to untangle them again. Or maybe I just don't want to anymore.
Anger rumbles from his chest and his nose flares as he spouts in my direction, “What the hell is this, Chloe?” Yellowed pages of my journal flap through the air with each flick of his wrist, taunting me from across my bedroom.
How did he find that?
Beer sloshes from a blue plastic cup that I know is not his first—or his last. As the liquid splashes on the old wood floors I can already imagine the stale but sour stench I'll be wrinkling my nose to in the morning. It should have been a fun, celebratory night filled with bad dancing, neighbors threatening noise violations, and possibly some skinny-dipping. The drunken mess standing before me is the wrong kind of bad I wanted to experience tonight.
I'm still cloaked in my graduation gown, the rough fabric combing my skin, providing a false sense of security under Devon's heated glare. If only I could tuck my head inside it to avoid another argument. At least the cloth would muffle his words, obscuring his shouts the way tears are threatening to blur my vision. If only.
It's no use asking him what he's referring to or why he looks like he wants to throw my journal—and me—across the room. I'm already aware of the passages between the binding he grips with white-tipped knuckles. We've been official for four months, and he somehow feels as if he has the right to invade my thoughts, fears, and dreams. I ignore the fact that his anger might be justified because of what he read and focus on what he did wrong.
“You read my journal?” I explode. “Why?” My voice won't stop shaking no matter how hard I try to control it. I know I have to get ahold of myself. Devon can sniff weakness from a mile away, and he will use it to his advantage.
He glowers at me in response, spilling hate with every breath. I might hate myself too for letting it come to this point. His anger has always been a beast, ready to unleash if I make one wrong move, and alcohol only gases his fire. Devon has never hit me, but certain situations have caused me to imagine what a blow would feel like. It wasn't long ago, during one of our bigger arguments, that his fist came close. So close that I felt a rush of a
Devon is a big guy, an athlete, and six-foot-three—almost a foot taller than me. He steps closer, casting a shadow over me, reminding me of my inferiority. He enjoys this: demonstrating he could hurt me if he wanted to. I think he wants to.
The only difference between now and the past is that I've been through this enough, and nothing about him scares me. Not anymore. Not even the fact that we’re trapped in the same room together. Alone. By now, Devon knows I'm not the passive weakling he wants me to be.
Instead of glowering or slamming my lids closed again, I stand taller and meet his furious scowl. If he's going to hit me, I want him to see that I'm undaunted by his threats. “It's a journal, Devon. It's not like I cheated on you.”
He doesn't know I'm aware of his escapades, but my comment gets his attention. There's a flash of worry in his features before he catches himself and stands taller, puffing out his chest with laughter. I think his laugh hurts more than his fist ever could. He doesn't admit his own deceit—not that I need him to, since I found a pile of empty condom wrappers in the center compartment of his Honda last month. Sure, they could have been from before we dated, but the feeling in my gut told me what my heart didn't want to believe. And honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted me to find them. Always a hothead, Devon loves a good argument.
He's still steaming when he finally speaks. “Wouldn't that be classic? You won't give it up for me, but you would for him.”
My face flames with mortification. I've never given it up for anyone, which is one of the many reasons we argue. Devon thinks he owns every piece of me because we're dating, always telling me how lucky I should feel to be with him, insisting if I cared for him I should show him. No matter the argument, it always ends the same. I say “no” and he casts threats, telling me he'll leave me, cheat on me, anything to get his fill. He hopes these arguments will help me see how badly I want him.
He doesn't know me at all.
“I didn't do anything.”
I have no desire to defend myself, not for lack of energy, but because I've run out of reasons to continue trying. It's been a long four months of a relationship that should have never been. The moment romance got involved, everything changed . . . and I mean everything. We were better off as friends, but there's no going back to friendship. Not after this. Devon Rhodes can go screw himself and whomever else he wants because he'll never get near me again. He expects me to grovel, to feel as if I'm the one who betrayed him. Not going to happen.
“I think you should leave.” My final request does something to him. The fierceness in his eyes loses its flame, and with a flick of his wrist he tosses my journal to the corner of the room. Then he backs away with his hands up, a gesture that releases all tension from my body. He's giving up. Finally.
I don't need to look up to feel the heat escaping his body; it fills my room, creating a humidity we could drown in. Maybe we have been drowning, and every moment with Devon is my life flashing before my eyes. That would explain the suffocation I feel every time I'm with him.
He begins to exit my room, undoubtedly heading toward the party next door to relieve his frustrations on the first girl that will spread her legs. Turning, he makes sure to deliver one final blow before crossing the threshold and slamming the door. “Go to hell Chloe, and take my brother with you.”
The ball in my throat can't decide whether it wants to sink deep into the pit of my stomach, weighing me down with guilt, or climb out my throat, clearing way for my scream of relief. It's just there, taunting me, reminding me I had the power to end our relationship sooner. Instead, I let it come to this, and I can only take responsibility for my own mistakes. Unfortunately, I've made a lot of them.
In seconds I'm peeling off my gown and throwing myself onto my bed, in no mood to go back to that party. No celebration for me tonight.
Now that Devon's gone, I want to let it all out. Everything my heart has endured in these months of torture. I can't remember the last time I cried, but I have a sense it would feel good to let go right about now. As I smash my face into the flower-stained bedspread and clutch it with all my might, I practically have to force a tear from my eye.
A slow knock on my door jerks me to a sitting position. That's a knock I haven't heard in a while, but I know who owns it. I stand and straighten my dress, then slide a finger across the single tear I was able to muster.
“Come in,” I say.
Gavin pokes his head in hesitantly, as if testing the waters, before the rest of his body follows. He shuts the door and leans against it, a look of concern etched into his face. He must have seen Devon. Shame floods me, and I have to tear myself from his gaze.
“He looked pretty pissed this time. Are you okay?”
My swallow overshadows my nod.
“What happened?”
“The usual,” I answer dryly. I watch him. He's silent, observing me as he waits for a better response. Gavin has always had the ability to read me, no matter how hard I try to hide the truth. “What?” I demand. “He's drunk.”
When Gavin tenses he does this strange thing with his jaw, as if he's clenching his teeth to keep from saying something he might regret. “What happened, Chloe?” he asks again.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the brown leather cover of my journal and sigh. Not wanting to attract attention to it, I turn back to Gavin, who’s slowly approaching. “I can't do it anymore. He's impossible to be with. Even when he's not drunk, he's yelling at me or accusing me of cheating on him.” I leave out the part where he threatened to leave me if I didn't have sex with him. I’m not sure if Gavin knows this side of his brother, and I don't want to be the one to tell him.
