All Chapters of Between Us In Boston : Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

I managed to find my way back to Grady and of course he was talking to a girl. It was never the same with him and this girl was in a crop top, jenco looking jeans, an orange bandana around her forehead like a headband, loose wavy brownish blonde hair, two full arm sleeves and while I couldn’t actually smell her I knew she smelled like hemp. I got closer and her eyes darted at me as if to warn me to stay away. So naturally out of spite I put my arms around Grady’s waist and gently hugged him from behind. I got close enough in range to smell her and confirm that yep she definitely smelled like hemp. I could even see her pierced nipples playing peekaboo through her very thin cropped tank. I then lovingly said to Grady “There you are baby, I’ve been looking all over for you.” The girl was not impressed and pretty much stopped listening immediately and just turned and left. Grady turned and gave me a poisonous look. “You’re a fuck Wendy you know that?” “She sme

As they walked in, I got the usual greeting: “Fuck you for making us look like shit, Wendy.” Now fully awake, I smirked and shot back, “Maybe you guys should start waking up at 5 a.m. if you want a chance at keeping up with me.” A few more muttered “Fuck you’s followed as they trudged upstairs to shower. After they cleared upstairs, I too hopped in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the morning run. Afterward, as I stepped out of the bathroom, and checked my phone and noticed a missed call from my dad. Mark McNaulty—a mountain of a man. Growing up, he held me to the highest standards, whether in sports, academics, or social status. Perfection wasn’t just encouraged; it was expected. Anything less was an unspoken disappointment. But oddly, I never blamed him for it. Never resented him. He was doing his best, overcompensating after my mom left us—for the bottle, for a Rockefeller lifestyle, for a revolving door of men. He played the

My eyes were still closed, but I was already aware of my surroundings, caught in that perfect morning limbo where the bed feels impossibly cozy, and the warmth of the covers is too perfect to disturb. Even the slightest movement—or the mere thought of it—could ruin everything. As I lay frozen in my little cocoon, the scent of warm, processed blueberries drifted through the air. From the living room, the sound of a sports show murmured in the background. Scott and Grady were already up, moving around with their usual morning energy. If I had to guess, it was around 6:45 a.m., just minutes before Scott would come in, Pop-Tarts in hand, ready to bribe me out of my cave. A few years ago, I was a record-setting distance runner at Duke. I was one of the boys—often seen as a “bro.” While I had a few female teammates I studied with occasionally, there was always a sense of distance between us that I struggled to bridge. My competitive nature made it hard to f