Once Upon A Friendship. Tara Taylor Quinn

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       Copyright

       PROLOGUE

      Nine years ago

      Junior year, University of Colorado, Boulder

      WITH A WAD OF money in his pocket and a couple of beers in his system, business and journalism major Liam Connelly had to thank the old man for having taken away his every mode of personal transportation back in freshman year. While the deprivation had only lasted nine months—and had been lifted two years ago—he’d never have discovered the beauty of a long walk at night if he hadn’t been without a car. Walking took longer, but the cool Colorado spring air cleared his head.

      Yeah, the old man had done him a huge favor back then when he’d come storming up to his dorm room, pissed because Liam had moved into the dorm instead of the upscale apartment, complete with doorman, that his father had chosen for him off campus. As Liam had suspected, he’d later had confirmation that his father had prepaid the doorman to keep an eye on Liam’s comings and goings and submit weekly written reports.

      The brutal match of wills that had taken place two years before hadn’t been pretty. The old man had demanded—not kindly or softly, either—that Liam leave with him immediately. That night had been the first time Liam had openly stood his ground with his father. Face-to-face, instead of in the quietly rebellious ways he’d managed prior to that—such as deliberately answering questions wrong on his college entrance exams so that he didn’t score high enough to be shipped off to Harvard.

      But that night in his dorm, he’d called the old man’s bluff. He’d lost motor vehicle privileges, including his BMW 3 Series sports car, all three boats and the Jet Skis, but the price had been a small one to pay.

      But humiliating, when he’d found out that the two girls who lived in the room next door had heard every word of the ugly altercation.

      That was the night he’d met Gabrielle Miller and Marie Bustamante.

      Detouring from his path to the plush apartment he’d moved into at the beginning of his sophomore year—in a bargain with his father to get his car back—he headed toward an upperclassman dorm on the Boulder campus. This dorm was different from the one two years ago. The girls had moved twice since freshman year: at the beginning of sophomore year, and again at the beginning of their junior year. They’d been talking about getting an apartment for senior year. Gabrielle was leery of the extra cost. Marie, who was majoring in food and nutrition, wanted a place closer to the coffee shop where she’d been promoted to senior barista.

      Didn’t matter to him one way or another as long as he knew where to find them.

      He might be the only guy who visited a confessional before he slept off his sins, but he’d found that he woke up better that way. Besides, if more guys had a two-girl confessor instead of a priest, there’d probably be a whole lot more confessing.

      He knocked. And waited. Past midnight on Saturday, they might be asleep. But they’d get up for him. Just as he’d done for them the time Gabrielle’s car had broken down when they’d gone to Denver for some Wednesday night charity thing to raise money for one of the kitchens or something she was always volunteering at.

      And the time Marie’d been invited to a frat party and had had two guys trying to force her to spend the night there.

      He’d called his father for the first issue. The old man had sent a tow truck for the car and a cab to take the girls to Gabrielle’s mother’s house. Liam had personally paid to have the car fixed so the girls could drive it back to Boulder.

      The second one, the frat party that had gotten out of hand, he’d handled himself. With a fist, because the guys were too drunk to reason with, and then the next day, when they’d sobered, he’d issued threats. Neither Marie nor Gabrielle had been bothered by the frat boys since.

      He knocked again, glanced at his watch and then tried to discern if light was coming from beneath the door. The sweep prevented such a tell. They could both be out. Marie had been dating a guy she’d met at the coffee shop. Some older dude in med school. And Gabrielle—she’d talked about going home to Denver for the weekend. One of her younger brothers played baseball for his high school team and had a tournament game. He’d thought she was leaving the next day. Saturday. Gabi didn’t really like spending the night at her mother’s place.

      Not that Liam blamed her. The place had seen better days. And better neighbors. His BMW wasn’t safe parked out front...

      Just as he was turning to leave, the door opened. Both girls stood there in flannel pants and baggy, thigh-length T-shirts, staring at him. Gabrielle’s short black hair was sticking up randomly—pillow hair, she called it. Marie’s hair was pulled back into her usual ponytail.

      “You guys in bed already? It’s Saturday night.” Liam sauntered into the barely lit room, dropping down to the beanbag chair he’d left in their room freshman year when it had become obvious to him that they were going to be his keepers.

      His conscience.

      Hell, he might as well admit it—because he’d had two beers—they were his best friends.

      The room wasn’t much different from the others the girls had shared throughout college—two beds, two built-in desks, wall cabinets for dressers, a closet and a small private bathroom. At least this john they didn’t have to share with suite mates who took exception to a guy using it.

      “It’s one o’clock in the morning.” Gabrielle yawned, not bothering to turn on any more than the small lamp between the girl’s beds, which she’d probably switched on when he’d knocked. “What’s up?”

      “Let me guess, hot girl of the week passed out on you?” Marie’s sarcasm was out of character, making him hesitate in his plan to spill all, as she plopped her perfectly shaped, not quite five-foot-two body cross-legged on her unmade bed.

      Gabrielle curled her long legs on her desk chair, arms hooked on the back of it, resting her chin on top of her hands.

      Guys he hung with ribbed him. Insinuating that something was wrong with him for not going for one or both of the girls. Everyone said the way they let him come and go made it pretty obvious that he could take things further with either one of them anytime. But he couldn’t. They were like...sisters to him. Ever since that first night in the dorm when they’d overheard his father coming at him so hard and had come to see if he was okay. He’d been annoyed at first. Knowing that they’d heard. And then secretly thankful to have them there.

      He’d never had siblings. Never had anyone close enough to have his back where his father’s mental and emotional abuse were concerned—and had only begun to realize in the past few years that the old man was, in his own way, abusive. In a weak moment he’d bared his soul to the girls.

      And then hadn’t been able to quit.

      So...yeah...they had way too much on him.

      And