Page 1 of Leave Before I Love You
January 1st
Avery
When people say“New year, new me,”my first instinct is to choke dramatically on my own saliva.
I mean, I havequestions.
Why don’t you like the you that you are now?
And if you don’t, why wait for some magical ball drop to change it?Time is a construct, Tiffany.
Me? I happen to like myself—some might say too much. But I disagree. The one person you can always count on is yourself, so you might as well be your own favorite bitch. And I, Avery Banks, knowexactlywhat I’m bringing to the table.You’re welcome, world.
What I’m not as in control of is what the world gives me or just how vulnerable I am going to be to yet another New Year’s cliché.
Six months ago, my best friend June, my brother Beau (who also happens to be her husband), and his best friends—Henry Callahan, Ronnie Damon, and Maverick Catalano—planned the ultimate New Year’s trip to a private island in the Exumas. We all chipped in to make it as obnoxiously extravagant as possible, and that resulted in the mansion having two pools, a sauna, three water slides into the Caribbean, and a chef-staffed kitchen to cater to our every whim.
According to eternal optimist June, it was theperfectway to kick off the new year—a fresh start with our favorite people. For me, that meant one favorite person—my bestie June—and a bunch of losers—my older brother and his friends.
Unfortunately, a few things have shifted since we originally scheduled this adventure, and as a result, I cannotbelieve I’m still going.
“Go and start the new year off with a bang,”Beau said when I tried to back out. Easy for him to say—hegets to stay home. When June bailed due to morning sickness—and general buzzkill status—my brother immediately pulled the plug too, leavingmealone with the three amigos.
To cheer myself up, I plan to drink my body weight in cocktails and bake in the sun every day—and if June hadn’t let my brother knock her up for thesecond timeat such an inopportune interval, I wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Ughhhhh.Love that I’m getting a new baby nephew this summer. Hate that June didn’t plan this pregnancy better.
I sigh heavily and pull my G-Wagon into the parking lot outside the small private airport hangar, located on the north end of Miami Beach, looking for other cars I recognize. I’m normally last to arrive to group ventures, but for a change of pace, I’m on time today, and as a result, some of the morning fog is still burning off over the ocean.
Running a hand over my slicked-back ponytail while Billie Eilish sings “Birds of a Feather,” I glance in the rearview mirror to fix my lip gloss briefly before paying attention to the twenty-spot blacktop lot and its white-lined spaces. Several are open, so I pull my Mercedes into one on a small screech of tires and scope the area.
My brother Beau’s best friend Henry Callahan’s Mustang is three spaces down, at the end of the line—a sign that I’m in the right place—so I unbuckle, shut off the engine, and climb out to adjust my outfit. I’m dressed casually—something I’m told by my mother, Diane Banks, is appropriate when your plans include jumping out of a plane—settling for Golden Goose sneakers, Nili LotanBolero jeans, and a Ravella cashmere sweater instead of my usual Louboutin heels and a cultivated variation of Dior and Saint Laurent and Versace.
Those outfits are, of course, in my suitcase, but I’ll save them for the safety of the Bahamian island we’re planning to vacation on for the next few days instead of the wind of the stratosphere or whatever the hell you have to deal with at several thousand feet with a parachute strapped to your back.
You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. We’reliterallyparachuting into the island.
Opening the hatch at the back of my SUV, I pull the small roller bag out from its spot in the trunk and shut it again, beeping the locks as I stroll toward the arched hangar. My suitcase follows dutifully, and I settle a pair of Chanel sunnies onto the bridge of my nose to shield the bright sun.
A heavy sigh fills my lungs with air and then exits in one big huff.Ugh. I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with Henry, Ronnie, and Maverick all by myself.
And to make matters worse, I have to freakingskydiveto get there.
Which is ridiculous.
Henry’s company Adrenaline Junkie is the foremost extreme sports equipment company in the country, but that doesn’t mean we have to include it in our every move. I mean, sane people take yachts to expensive, exclusive island getaways—not some bullshit airdrop-express-backwoods plane delivery service. The plane doesn’t evenlandon a runway, mind you. We’re just supposed to jump out midair like we’re Amazon Prime packages being delivered by drone to a deserted island.
“Hey, Ave,” Henry greets as soon as I step inside the dark hangar. My eyes haven’t adjusted yet, so I can’t see him, but I’ve known him nearly all my life at this point, so the voice is a dead giveaway. He and my brother have been friends since grammar school and,for all intents and purposes, have continued to be stuck together like glue well into adulthood.
The two of us have a little history too, but that’s neither here nor there right now. I’ve kissed plenty of hot guys in my life—that doesn’t mean they don’t irritate me.
“Hi,” I say a little snottily, aggravated with this whole dog and pony show. I never liked the idea of spending my vacation time parachuting out of planes with people I barely tolerate anyway, but with June backing out because she’s preggo and Beau doing the same to “take care of her,” I’m questioning more and more by the minute why I didn’t do the same.My brother’s three ridiculous bros and me for three whole days?What the hell was I thinking?
“Where should I put my suitcase?”
“Suitcase?” Henry questions, his little laugh grating my nerves since it’s clearly aimed at me. “You can’t bring a suitcase. Just a small pack.”
I roll my eyes and state the obvious. “Thisisa small pack. I didn’t even bring my full skincare regimen. What the hell do you mean?”
