HABIT, page 1
HABIT
The Boys of Welles Book 3
Ginger Scott
Copyright 2022
Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write, LLC
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Ginger Scott, Little Miss Write LLC
Contents
1. Morgan Bentley
2. James Fuentes
3. Morgan
4. James
5. Morgan
6. James
7. Morgan
8. James
9. Morgan
10. James
11. Morgan
12. James
13. Morgan
14. James
15. Morgan
16. James
17. Morgan
18. James
19. Morgan
20. James
21. Morgan
22. James
Epilogue
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By Ginger Scott
For Autumn and Brenda.
Thank you from my whole entire heart.
Chapter 1
Morgan Bentley
I’m so glad you’re ok!
OMG, we miss you! So glad you’re ok!
What happened? Did you die?
Did Morgan Bentley survive?
Morgan is totally using this whole accident thing for attention.
Appalling.
Gross.
So disrespectful.
Poor Anika! Poor Lily! And Brooklyn! Morgan probably hates that she didn’t get the same attention they did.
Bitch!
I haven’t made a single post since the accident last spring, yet the messages and comments on my social media platforms still pour in, the toxic outweighing the positive by a hundred to one. There were four of us in that car, four joyful faces that still smile back at me from the past. My last post was a photo from that night, only hours before my friend Anika veered off the bridge and our car hurtled into the river. She was beautiful in this captured moment, though something clearly had her distracted and a little upset. That was Anika—the best of herself even if she wasn’t feeling up to it. She was always beautiful—from the inside out—in a way I aspired to be.
She had a seizure. It wasn’t her fault. And now she’s gone.
Life can change in a blink.
I’ve read that sentiment in memes and on T-shirts and stickers hundreds of times. It didn’t sit as truth until I lived it. Until I blinked.
The three of us who survived promised to stay strong for each other and remain together because that’s what Anika would have wanted. Brooklyn was the closest with Anika, and seeing her struggle after almost losing her leg in the accident breaks me because I’m not Anika. I try—I’ve been trying. I can’t seem to inspire her the way Anika would have, though. I can’t seem to inspire anyone. Lily needs someone to push her, but I lack the finesse our friend had. I’m brash. I bully, even when I don’t mean to. It’s how I was raised. That’s how love is shown in the Bentley house, or at least that’s the excuse my mom makes when my dad barks at me rather than taking the time to listen.
It's easier to talk to Brooklyn than it is Lily, who was the newest to our friend group. Anika introduced us. And she’s right that Lily fits us. We need her. And I think she needs us. I only wish she knew me before I was broken. This version of me isn’t right. Things that were so important before are rather empty to me now. Yet it all used to give me so much joy. Shoes, clothes, new clubs and restaurants—the glitz. Being first to try things. Being the one to determine what was worthy and what was not. Deciding for the masses.
Empty.
This path I’ve carved is totally narcissistic. I know it is. But social media is the times, and I’d be foolish not to capitalize on the opportunity. If there’s one thing Daddy has taught me it’s that making money is always good business . . . when it’s legal. He always adds that last part in with a chuckle to show he’s kidding. I’m not sure he is, though. I get the sense that my father’s business has had a lot of experience on both sides of the law. I’d like to think he’s never crossed a hard line, but I’m not stupid enough to believe he hasn’t blurred them over the years.
I figured out during junior high that I had a window to become something—someone. That’s when I started growing my brand. My family is a name in this city thanks to my father’s business, which means I have access to places few people do. I’m an automatic invite for any club, party, or exclusive event happening in Boston—assuming our family isn’t already hosting it.
It all started with a selfie I took on the T on my way to a Louis Vuitton gala out on the Cape. Looking back at that image now is laughable. I felt so grown up . . . at twelve! Maybe that was the appeal, a child playing grownup in the city. Other pre-teens flocked to it, and then it spread to high schoolers and college students. Before the year was up, I was followed by some of my favorite celebrities. All because I rode a train by myself to a party I didn’t truly want to go to. I was supposed to go with my dad, but per the norm, he was too busy and thought it would be rude if I didn’t show up since he “forced them to make an exception for me.” Ha! Now I’m the preferred Bentley guest and my dad is the one they allow in attendance because having me there puts their event on the social map.
The invites still come. I’m surprised the demand for my presence has held up despite my months-long absence. I read the comments. While the haters have grown bolder—louder—the digital landscape still craves me. Being gone has somehow stirred mystery and anticipation. And here I am, simply without anything to say. No motive. Just . . . empty.
“Earth to Morgan.” Brooklyn snaps in my face, interrupting my gaze. I’ve been flipping through other people’s posts, trying to look normal.
“Sorry, I was spacing.” I click my screen off and flatten my phone screen-side down on my thigh. “What did I miss?”
Besides everything for the last hundred days.
“Me and Lily are hungry. Are you ready for dinner?” Brooklyn grabs her crossbody bag from the hook she put up on the back of our door while Lily throws on a Welles sweatshirt. The normal thing to do would be to join them.
“Starving,” I lie. My appetite since the accident has been on the level of picking at my food. I came through with nothing more than cuts and bruises, but I was also hollowed out.
I straighten out my skirt when I stand and give my lips a quick check in the mirror by our door before I walk out. I touch up the gloss before letting the door fall closed behind me, then step between my two roommates and link arms with them. This is the kind of thing Anika would do, and maybe it’s a small part I can play.
It’s only the first week of the new school year at Welles. I managed to get my section of our room put together completely, including my pin board and all the photos that go on it. I thought being surrounded by my things would help turn back the clock. Time seems to keep moving forward, though.
“You know, we could ditch the dining hall and hop into Brooklyn’s SUV and drive into the city for a dinner at Santo’s on the patio.” I know they won’t want to do that, but it’s the type of suggestion I would have made last year, so I play the part. I don’t really want to drive into the city either. But I’m not exactly looking forward to the Welles campus dining hall.
“Pretty sure my food plan doesn’t cover Santo’s,” Lily says with a light laugh.
I squeeze her arm with mine and lean into her closer.
“My treat,” I say with a wink. “But maybe next time.”
I replay that small interaction for the rest of the walk to the dining hall. I hope I didn’t make Lily feel out of place. She’s not from a family like ours, one with stupid amounts of disposable income and little regard for how we spend. She’s practical and frugal and talented with the way she competitively swims. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat. Though I’m not so sure I want the broken heart I see written all over her face.
Theo Rothschild, Anika’s brother, is the first person we see when we walk into the dining hall. He and his friends enter from the other side, and in a matter of seconds, Lily and Theo have a thousand wordless conversations with one simple glance, a look that leaves Lily looking at the floor and pale as a ghost. Anika made me promise not to tell, but she told me how much Lily likes Theo. It’s clear she was right about it being more than a crush, too. Anika set them up the night our lives were all ruined, and now she’s not here to fix it.
I’m rushing toward Theo before my brain has a chance to sort through the consequences of what I’m doing. If Anika isn’t here, then maybe I can fix this one thing for Lily. Theo and I are close. Our families have been close for years. I know him, better than a lot of people. Theo is holding in so much anger over his sister’s death, and he’s putting it on Lily’s shoulders. If I can somehow untangle that for them, get them to lean on each other rather than fight, maybe I’ll feel better, too. What a selfish way to get to a kind gesture.
I’m steps away from Theo when my gaze shifts to his left and I’m hit with hazel eyes, brown wavy hair, and what looks to be about six-foot-two of broad chest, contoured biceps and full lips that slowly stretch into a smile as I stare at them.
“Theo, who’s your friend,” I say, sliding into Theo’s side and hugging him with one arm. My instant distraction by a guy I know I have never seen before has me forgetting the reason I came over here in the first place. Refocus, Morgan. It’s not about you. It’s about Lily, and . . . oh my God, this man smells so good.
“Morgan Bentley, meet the new Welles QB,” Theo says.
Of course, he’s the quarterback. I mean, look at him! I bet Toby, who was our mediocre quarterback last year, is shitting himself at the sight of this guy. He’s twice his size, and judging by the way his arms ripple with the slightest flex of his forearms, I’m guessing he can sling the ball about twice as far.
My hand shoots forward toward our new quarterback on reflex. At least my social self hasn’t forgotten how to do some things. His mouth ticks up on one side and my heart pounds out about a dozen beats in a single second before his hand wraps around mine, swallowing it up. His grip is perfect—warm hand, no sweat, firm but gentle in just the right way. His nails are well groomed, which means he gives a shit about how he looks. The calluses on his palm tell me he works his ass off.
“James Fuentes, and I don’t have the job quite yet,” he says in a low voice with just a hint of rasp. He glances from me toward Theo. He’s being modest, probably because he doesn’t want word to get back to Toby. He’s not just gorgeous, but he’s nice and respectful.
Theo leans into me with a soft chuckle and I tilt my head so he can whisper into my ear.
“His dad’s the coach.”
I flash a glance to Theo at the news. His eyes fall slightly, I’m guessing because he didn’t think through what his commentary would mean to me. Brennan Wallace was the coach at Welles for several years, until I got him fired. According to the paper trail, he resigned on his own. According to the rumor factory that is Welles Academy, he was let go for having an affair with one of his students . . . me. Nobody has uttered my name out loud, at least not in a circle that I would hear. But they don’t have to say my name. It’s in the little things, like the off-handed comments about my taboo tastes. But the truth is, Coach Wallace was the kindest man I’ve ever met, and he listened to me the way I always wished my father would. When I was in a truly dark place, his was the open door I needed to keep my head above water. We were close, but not the kind of close that gossipy, privileged youths salivate over. He was a friend—a father figure. And helping me got him fired.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and roll my shoulders, straightening my spine. The smile I force is the biggest test of my life. If James hasn’t heard the rumors yet, he will soon. And being the coach’s son makes anything with him . . . complicated.
“James, nice to meet you. You boys come sit with us. Lily’s holding the big table near the windows.” Lily. That’s the reason I started this conversation. To help Lily. Not myself.
I glance to my friend, who looks terrified. Lily’s not as rehearsed at masking her emotions as the rest of us. That’s a trait learned from years spent at country clubs and dinner parties where the only purpose seems to be trying to one-up each other.
“We’d love to,” Theo says, his jaw rigid. I wonder if he regrets giving in so fast or is doubling down, determined to make this meal miserable for Lily. I won’t let that happen. I can do this one thing. I note his reaction, tucking it away into my mental file the way Anika would have. Theo’s not as angry with Lily as he thinks he is. He’s drawn to her. He needs her. They honestly need each other.
We all do.
I follow Theo into the cafeteria line, eying him as he aggressively fills his tray. He takes two apples, and I’m about to question his motive when an elbow nudges my other side.
“Give it to me straight. Is this stuff any good?” James points toward the pasta salad with a gaping hole scooped from the center and tongs resting along the top.
“Depends. Do you like your colon?” I twist my mouth and glance up. I expect to be struck by his eyes first, because that’s the first thing I noticed when we met minutes ago. But my lame joke makes him laugh, and it turns out that as sexy as his sharp jawline, narrow nose, and chameleon eyes are, it’s the combo of smile and breathy laugh that legit stops my heart and sends a rush of tingles down to my belly.
“So, I’m guessing it’s a pass on anything with tongs?” He quirks a brow. Also fucking adorable. If every expression is going to be like this, I’m doomed.
“Pretty much,” I answer, flashing a smile of my own.
My usual move is to get coy, to bat my lashes and lick my lips, drawing attention right where I want it. But something grips me from inside, a faint echo in my mind telling me not to go down that road. I hover for a few extra seconds, and it’s not until James flits his eyes over my head that I realize I’m holding up the end of the line.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, turning and squeezing my eyes shut while admonishing myself for acting like a pre-teen with a crush. This is not my normal mode of flirting. I’m thrown, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s so goddamn good looking or because I feel guilty indulging after giving myself the little “be a better person” pep talk before we came to dinner.
I renew my vow to help Lily and Theo when I get to the table in time to see Theo basically force his extra apple on Lily. He’s such an idiot. I’m sure he’s telling himself he’s giving her that apple to tease her and be a dick, but really, he doesn’t like that she’s not eating. None of us do, and he’s as worried as we are. But he’s too busy fronting to accept it. He’d rather be mean than feel something good about someone else.
“Fine. Starve.” Theo ends his apple incident with Lily by pouting as I take my seat across from him. I shoot him a glare and don’t let up until he glances up and sees it. I get an eyeroll, which lights that fire I get sometimes. I mash my lips together into a pissed-off smile and will my mouth to remain shut.
Do not let the tiger out, Morgan. Don’t do it.
My mouth opens on its own, and my eyes flutter against my strong will as I fight to keep my words inside.
“Hey, let’s compare schedules.” It’s as if James senses I need someone to redirect things. My mouth snaps shut, and I sit up tall as he pulls his schedule from his pocket and flattens the paper on the table. We all lean forward to look it over. I read through it optimistically, hoping for a class with him. Not only do we not have any of the same classes, but from a quick assessment it seems we are on opposite ends of the campus at all times. I hide my disappointment by popping a bendy straw in my soda and chewing on the end as I sip my Sierra Mist. I’m pretty sure that’s the universe’s way of telling me this one’s off limits.
And that’s when I notice the flicker in his gaze as Lily defends his selection of pottery as his fine art class.
“I’ll make you a hot chocolate mug,” he says, giving her a smile that is bigger than the one I got in the food line. A different smile. The one he gave me was because I genuinely made him laugh. But this smile . . . it’s because he’s interested. In her. Not me.
I suck up a big gulp, letting the carbonation burn the back of my tongue and clean out my throat as it bubbles its way down. It chokes me for a breath, and I cough. Brooklyn pushes her water bottle toward me, but I shake my head and wave her off. If I wanted to take another drink, I’d just put my damn straw in my mouth. And yeah, water is probably smarter. And sure, that tickle is persistent, and I am going to cough again right . . . now. But I don’t want her help.
I form a fist and press it to my lips, shutting my eyes and willing my throat to calm the fuck down. Does my body not get that I am intently listening to Lily and James make tutoring plans so they can spend time together.
