Same as yesterday the bo.., p.1
Same As Yesterday (The Boys from Clear Lake Book 1), page 1
Same As Yesterday
K.C. Everly
Copyright © 2023 by K.C. Everly
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is coincidental.
Cover designed by Miblart
Contents
Before You Read
1. The Boys from Clear Lake
2. Prologue
3. Chapter 3
4. One
5. Two
6. Three
7. Four
8. Five
9. Six
10. Seven
11. Eight
12. Nine
13. Ten
14. Eleven
15. Twelve
16. Thirteen
17. Fourteen
18. Fifteen
19. Sixteen
20. Seventeen
21. Eighteen
22. Nineteen
23. Twenty
24. Twenty-One
25. Twenty-Two
26. Twenty-Three
27. Twenty-Four
28. Twenty-Five
29. Twenty-Six
30. Twenty-Seven
31. Twenty-Eight
32. Twenty-Nine
33. Thirty
34. Thirty-One
35. Thirty-Two
36. Thirty-Three
37. Thirty-Four
38. Epilogue
39. Chapter 39
40. Clear Lake
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Also By K.C.
Before You Read
Content Warning and Tropes
Content Warning
This book is intended for readers 18+ and contains sensitive content, profanity (a lot), and graphic depictions of sex (also a lot). If you’re under 18 years old, come back later. We’ll be waiting.
This book contains some themes that may be distressing to readers, including childhood trauma and abuse (discussed, not shown), alcohol and substance abuse, drug use, and concerns related to mental health.
Tropes
Rockstar romance, childhood best friends to lovers, witty banter, slow burn, found family, all grown up, feel-good romance, no third-act breakup, emotional, swoony romance, broken hero with a dirty mouth
This is a sweet one, guys.
Xx
KC
The Boys from Clear Lake
The broken. The lonely. The angry. The empty. Four childhood friends. Four wild stories. One unbreakable bond. When it comes to love, they stumble and fall but always have each other’s backs. Brothers by choice, friends for life. Get ready for laughter, tears, and unforgettable romances.
“Mischievous and playful. Intense and consuming. Angsty and brooding. Handsome and good at shit. Kids tied together by missing pieces we’d filled for one another, shaping into men we could admire and be proud of.
We’d held each other accountable, called each other out when needed, and showed up for the moments that mattered. The boys were my family, and they always would be.”
The Boys from Clear Lake series is best read in order of release, though each book can be read as a standalone.
Same As Yesterday
The Wickedest Ones
Broken Like Me
Carried Away
Prologue
Noah
“I can’t believe he fell so easily.” I lifted the backpack to my shoulder, shuffling my foot against the pavement.
Ty, my best friend since the first day of kindergarten, grinned big and popped a Jolly Rancher into his mouth. “I can. Tommy Falchuck is a big baby.” He twisted the plastic wrapper between his fingers and nodded to Ezra. “He helped.”
Ezra grumbled something, pushing his dark hair out of his face like the movement of his hands could block his smile. Ty was right, and he had helped. Ezra was six like us but was as tall as a second grader. At least.
It was handy when we teamed up to help our newest friend, Reed. Tommy Falchuck, a fifth grader with a penchant for torturing those of us smaller than him, thought Reed was easy pickings. At least when alone.
Reed learned that the hard way a few hours ago, but Ty, Ezra, and I helped him set Tommy right.
I squinted into the sun, rubbing my brow. “I gotta get home. My dad will be back soon, and Mrs. Murphy is dropping Molly off from daycare.”
Ty’s lips pinched into a thin line, and he nodded in understanding. “Yeah, you gotta get back.”
Reed’s soft voice broke the tension stiff in my body. “Thank you, guys. For . . . everything.”
My hand was first in the dog pile, Ty’s palm quick to slam over mine. Ezra was next, and Reed only paused briefly before topping the stack.
“If we stick together, we’re too strong for jerks to push us around.” I pulled my hand away and waved it over my shoulder as I trudged down the driveway. “See you guys tomorrow.”
The incident with Tommy took longer than expected, and I hurried home, knowing that Molly would be back by the time I arrived. Even with the dread sinking low in my belly that appeared as I rounded the corner to my house, I couldn’t help but smile a little.
Stronger together.
That smile fell when I opened the front door and got my bearings. Broken shards of glass littered the kitchen floor as a fist punched through the drywall next to the fridge.
My father, barefoot, stood unaware he’d cut himself. Too drunk to feel, let alone think straight, he argued with the wall he’d slammed his hand through.
“Think you can leave me with them? I’ll make you regret it, you fucking bit—”
Molly hovered in the corner next to the table, her face blank as she just . . . stared. I don’t think my father was even aware he had an audience. I grabbed my little sister’s hand and pulled her to my bedroom, locking the door behind us. It wouldn’t stop him when he realized we existed, but it would buy us time.
Holding my finger to my lips, I whispered, “Be very, very quiet.”
Molly nodded, her tight blonde curls bouncing with her frightened agreement. These kinds of days always left her stunned and silent.
“Get out!” a voice hissed. “Come with me.”
A brown nest of tangled hair poked through my bedroom window, the wide eyes of my neighbor meeting mine. Even though Jaime Sullivan was six years old, like me, there was no fear in those eyes.
I hesitated, but only for a moment. The crashing of something heavy jolted me out of my surprise. Jaime stepped back, making room for me and Molly to climb out. She led us over the fence and through her bedroom window.
That small cedarwood fence separated our houses, but the difference between them was stark. Once inside her room, there was nothing but silence.
“What the hell was that?” Jaime asked, her eyes darting between me and Molly as I rubbed my arm and kicked at the carpet.
I couldn’t believe she’d used that rude word. Amazing.
Jaime pushed her hair out of her face, a sparkly purple nail polish on her fingers catching in the light with a shine. Paint or marker splattered her hands like she’d been working on an art project.
Posters and pictures covered the walls of her room. Flowers and rainbows and mermaid kittens, some hand-drawn with surprising precision. It was so . . . happy. Like this girl was happy. It made my heart rocket to the moon.
“He gets like that sometimes,” I said, stepping up like I had to be tough. “If we hide, we’re fine. He’ll stop.” And he would. My dad would stop once he ran out of steam and passed out, not waking until morning.
My mom had just taken off, as drunk and miserable as him. Except she’d forgotten to pack Molly and me with her.
Jaime was the first person, other than the boys, to witness this thing in my life.
She nodded, her hands dropping to her hips as she thought it over. “I’ll get my dad.”
“But—”
Jaime shook her head. “No. I’ll get my dad.”
She was going to tell her dad. She trusted her dad. She wasn’t hiding from him. I couldn’t make sense of it.
Jaime disappeared, and David was with her when she came back. He said little, just asked us a few questions, and checked us over. David told us we could stay for the night, helping Jaime move some pillows and blankets to the floor. Then he disappeared, too.
Later, I learned it was to confront my dad. Still drunk and belligerent, my dad swung at David. He missed. David never turned us away after that. Never. Not once. And neither did Jaime.
Molly fell asleep first, her soft snores filling the otherwise quiet room. I lay on the floor, tossing and trying to get comfortable.
“You can come up here if you want,” Jaime whispered. “It’s better than the floor.”
The invitation was easy to accept, and it was just a second later that I was crawling into her bed. A bed that outgrew both of us by middle school, but we continued to share anyway.
“Here,” she said, tossing a pillow. “You can sleep on that end, but keep your feet out of my face, or I’ll bite off your toes.”
I kept my legs tucked up to my stomach the entire night to be safe.
We were quiet for a while, sleep still no
The words washed over me, warming me as no blankets could. “Thanks, James,” I whispered back.
Twenty Years Later
One
Noah
A champagne bottle popped, the sound echoing between the walls of the tour bus. Four thrilled assholes and one ecstatic manager roared in celebration.
Jax, Spencer, Matt, and I—The Loneliest Nights—had just played our first arena show, opening for Humble Stars to a sold-out crowd. Fucking wild.
Spencer, our band’s drummer, shook the bottle as he held his thumb over the lip of it, spraying the bubbly all over the velvet curtains and shag rug of the bus’ interior.
Forget drinking that fancy shit—I grabbed the bourbon and took a swig, passing the bottle to Matt. He pounded it, a dribble sliding down his chin that he didn’t bother cleaning before passing the bottle to Jax.
Jax toasted Dan, our manager. “The Loneliest Nights wouldn’t have a chance without your ruthless endurance for success.”
Jax was a man of many words, and he knew how to wield them. Despite this, I was the lead singer and guitar player. I sat back, leaving him to it. He was an acceptable backup.
“Five years ago, we played at basement parties for Jell-O shots and a hopeful kiss from Matt’s ugly cousin.”
Matt shot Jax a look, flipping him off.
“Tonight, we played in a stadium of people, and I had seven pairs of panties shoved in my pockets on the way to the green room. Fuckin’ A,” he whooped. “Life is good.”
Jax took a long drink from the bourbon, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve when he was done.
Dan was a bit too serious, but gods love him. He’d worked some magic for The Loneliest Nights. He toasted us. “To Portland’s finest indie rock band. Let’s finish this tour even better than we started!”
That’d be tough after months on the road with a few more to go, but the bourbon was a decent sign that things would improve tonight. Guaranteed, Jax and Spencer would drag a parade of women onto the bus in the next twenty minutes.
Dan gave me a pointed look. “By that, I mean we have fun and behave.”
Giving him my best smile, albeit a crooked one, I saluted. “Yes, Dad.”
Jax leaned over and held his hand against his mouth in a stage whisper. “He should spank you like one, you fucking fool.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I ignored it, using the opportunity to smack Jax in the chest instead.
I’d enjoy our success—we’d earned it.
We’d spent years working our way up, playing shitty venues and house parties, writing songs, and working on our craft. By sophomore year, we’d dropped out of college to follow some promising opportunities that had, thank gods, worked out.
I’d been writing songs since I was a kid, locked away in my bedroom, hiding from the reality of my life. My dad would be drunk and raging on the other side of my bedroom door. My little sister, Molly, would sit on the end of my bed and listen to whatever song I was working on while encouraging me to keep going.
That kid couldn’t have ever imagined this life.
My phone buzzed again.
“Excuse me.” I stepped away from the rowdy celebration to crawl into my cramped bunk. The bus was better than the Astro van we’d spent years driving around the country, but it wasn’t great.
I checked the caller ID. Jaime Sullivan.
“Hey, asshole!” The curtain to my bunk pulled open, and two grinning faces of my bandmates intruded into my personal space. Jax’s smile dropped as he tipped the bourbon my way.
“Girls are here. Get your ass out, and let’s celebrate!”
I glanced at the face on my phone screen. My favorite picture of Jaime. I took it two summers ago when I was home in Clear Lake. We sat at her kitchen table and caught up on the events of our lives.
Jaime had just finished college and worked as an event planner in Seattle, living with her boyfriend, Alex—the doctor. She was high on life and the possibilities of what was to come. David, her dad, was responding well to his treatment.
Her face had been so light, so relaxed. Happy. I liked the look on her, and I pulled up my phone to snap the shot.
She’d looked so pretty at that kitchen table with the sun filtering through the window. Her brown hair was caramel-colored and with hints of gold and ash. Like there was a little of every color in there, and depending on the light, you could see it all.
Her hazel eyes were the same—shining anything from brown to green to gray on any day and in any light.
I liked that. Each time you looked at Jaime, you’d get a surprise.
“Dude, did you hear me?” Jax shoved my arm. “You don’t get to be a Debbie Downer tonight.”
Resting my hands on my stomach, I kept my eyes on the bunk above me—hardly enough room to sit in this coffin. I wanted to be left alone.
I held up my phone. “I gotta take this.”
Spencer reached for it, trying to swipe it. “Got yourself a girlfriend, finally?”
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, declining the call.
“Girlfriend or not, whoever’s calling isn’t on this bus,” Jax said, resting his forearms against my bunk like he was ready to settle in. “But we’ve got a line of ladies waiting to congratulate us on our biggest show.”
Tonight was an epic night, and Jaime was part of why I was here. I should have answered her call. I’d ignored them lately, wanting to avoid the sadness on the other end and feeling like a flaming pile of garbage because of it.
My adrenaline was blowing through me like a hurricane, but I wouldn’t be celebrating anything if it wasn’t for her.
She didn’t call again.
I was a shitty friend. It’d been a challenging year for her since her dad died. I should have answered. Promising I’d call her in the morning, I tucked my phone into my pocket.
Spencer swiped the bottle from Jax before I could take it.
“Come on. How many years did we dream about a night like tonight, huh?” Jax tipped the bottle to me again. “How many times did we promise we’d enjoy the hell out of our successes, however big or small?”
I rubbed my face with my hands, puffing a breath. “Yep.”
I kicked my feet to the edge of the bunk and hopped down. It didn’t matter what I felt like. When you’re a touring musician, there are expectations.
Jax and Spencer cleared room for me, whooping and hollering to the front of the bus as the stereo kicked in. My guitar sat propped against the wall, and I wished I could spend the rest of my night with that beauty in my bunk. Whispering sweet words of affirmation as I strummed those steady chords and made toe-curling music.
But it’d been a while since I had the motivation to write and even longer since I skipped an afterparty.
“Round ‘em up, boys.” It was an empty proclamation, but it didn’t matter. I said it anyway.
Same as yesterday.
“Christ,” I hissed, the light an assault to my senses. A wet slap of something heavy on my cheek followed, earning a groan of disgust. “Goddamnit, fucker.”
Jax laughed, that high-pitched and tilted chirp that made me want to throw him off the bus and into traffic.
“Tea bagging, dude.”
I rolled onto my side, placing my back to him as he dipped the tea bag into his cup.
Grabbing my pillow and shoving it over my head, maybe to suffocate instead of dealing with him, I grumbled, “You have got to stop that. It’s not as funny as you think.”
Jax thrust a paper cup of coffee at me, the aroma of the burnt roast drawing me out of hiding. I sat up, accepting it.
“Thanks. My head is going to split open.” I licked my lips, flexing my jaw. My mouth wasn’t faring much better, tasting like sour bourbon and cotton balls.
Jax hopped into his bunk across from mine. “Yep, you went hard last night, my friend, surprising us all. Matt dragged you back here.”
“Alone?” I took a slow sip of coffee, noting there was no stranger in my bunk or an unfamiliar hand wrapped around my dick, which was covered with boxers this morning. They were mine.
