Always and Forever (20 page)

“You promised!”

“God damn it, listen to me!” His open palm crashed down to the table, jostling plates, glasses, and silverware, and sent the papers he'd had neatly arranged skittering over the top and off the edge. He noticed none of it. His blazing eyes furiously pinned me to the spot. “We promised to give you some time, Mia. And, we have. Now, we must all face this…this thing. We can't hide from it any longer. You can't ask that of us.”

“What about me? I'm the one who's dying, Dad. Don't—”

“Precisely, the point. You're dying, and we have to pick up the pieces when this is all over. Your mother and I…we—” he broke off on a wretched sob, one that shook his entire body, crumbled his very foundation until he was a broken pile of rock and dust laid at my feet. “We have to bury you, Mia. We have to let you go, but how can we do that if you won't let us get close enough to hold onto you first?”

I shook my head, stubborn selfishness making me blind to their pain. “I just want things to be normal,” I whispered and swallowed against the lump that was fast-forming at the back of my throat. “I just need a little more time.”

He regarded me for a long while, his gaze a mixture of disappointment and betrayal that knifed straight through me. Still, I couldn't bring myself to say the words they needed to hear right then. Would I ever be able to admit to anyone, much less myself, that at sixteen, my life was basically over? How could they ask that of me?

Just a few more days. Just a few more hours. Just a few more minutes.

How could they not give that to me?

“The school has to be told,” he finally said. His tone brooked no arguments. Beside him, Mom had yet to add anything more to the conversation except for a few loud sniffles. “But it's up to you who else knows. Fair enough?”

I nodded, unable to form any words for a response.

“You need to tell your friends, Mia. Leaving them in the dark helps no one, no matter how you might rationalize it for yourself.”

He didn't speak further, just left his words hanging in the air, casting a pall over my entire day. He ushered Mom out of her chair and then led us out of the house. We had a date with the principal first thing this morning.

More like the firing squad.

*   *   *

“You don't have a pony in this race, huh?”

I looked up from my book, forced a brilliant smile for Brad, and shrugged. “It's a good line.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “The whole school is talking about your showdown with Mr. Wilson. And, your little line is everywhere. Anytime someone doesn't want to do anything, they just grin and say,
‘I don't have a pony in that race’
. It's freaking legendary is what it is.”

I glanced around the library to make sure his loud laughter wasn't going to get us booted during study hall. “I don't think I'd go that far.”

“From what I heard, it was epic. And all because you didn't finish a test?” He cocked his head and considered me for a minute. “That really doesn't sound like you at all, Mia.”

I cringed against his words. He really had no idea.

“Is something wrong?” He leaned forward and reached across the table to place his hand over mine.

I shrugged, slid my guilty gaze away from his discerning one, and mumbled “Just wasn't prepared is all. We all have off days.”

He flipped open a book, apparently accepting my answer. “So, Mike Brandt is having a party on Friday night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep, Dave has an away game. So, I figured you could be my wing girl until he gets there.”

“At which point, you will desert me for an empty bedroom or coat closet where you two can get your groove on?” I asked on a soft chuckle.

“I'm hurt. I really am.” He pressed a hand to his chest with feigned serious injury, a mortal wounding. “I'm a better wing man than that. I'll make sure you have your own hook-up first.”

“How noble of you.”

“That's me,” he said cheerfully.

“Hey, babe,” Dave greeted and dropped a kiss on the top of Brad's head before he plopped into the chair beside him. “What are you two plotting? Some race that Mia may or may not have a pony in?”

I rolled my eyes and tossed my pencil at him.

He plucked it easily out of the air and started doodling in the margin of Brad's notebook. “So, party at Brandt's house on Friday. You in, Mia?”

“Yeah,” Brad answered for me. “We've already got it worked out. I'm going to find her a hot guy to hook up with.” He shot me a wicked grin. “Or maybe a hot girl.”

Dave threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I'd fix you up with my older sister, but she's a tomcat if I ever saw one. I wouldn't do that to a friend.”

“I'm sure Lindsay would be thrilled to hear herself described that way,” I deadpanned. “Besides, we're both straight.”

Dave just waved his hand at me as if that was only a minor detail that he couldn't possibly be bothered with.

“My boy thinks anyone can be turned,” Brad told me as he strung his fingers through his boyfriend's.

“I turned you, didn't I?” Dave countered which caused Brad to sputter, his face flushing an impossibly dark red.

The bell rang then and broke up our little party.

Lunch flew by in a blink. We all laughed and chattered, gossiped and giggled like twelve-year-old girls. And, when the bell rang, Dave and Brad closed ranks beside me and walked me all the way to Mr. Wilson's class, even though they both had gym on the other side of the school.

As I entered the classroom, I held my head up high. I refused to play the part of the remorseful party. The assailant that regretted her actions. And, I definitely was not going to be the pitiful dying girl. No way.

I was keenly aware that two—really, everyone watched, but they were nothing…background props—sets of eyes followed me as I slithered into my seat. Ignoring the dark cocoa gaze that I wanted nothing more than to sink into, I focused instead on Mr. Wilson.

His lips quirked up in a timid smile, one that told me that he knew everything, and that he forgave me for the way I'd treated him yesterday. Well, guess what, buddy? I didn't want his understanding or his forgiveness. I just wanted to be left alone.

Why couldn't anyone understand that?

He called class to order and began taking attendance. I opened my book and bowed my head, pretending to be engrossed in the materials.

All through class, I stared straight down and never once let my eyes stray from the words that blurred across my page. Because if I did, if I gave in for even a moment and tossed just one look in Kal's direction, I'd be toast. All my walls would come tumbling down, and I'd fall all over myself in a useless attempt to get him back, to be awarded his forgiveness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I never wanted this. I never wanted the pain that now rampaged through my chest, tearing and crushing my insides until everything was ripped, jagged, and bleeding. I never wanted to know the feel of his arms, his lips brushing ever so gently over mine. I never wanted any of that.

I'd just wanted to be left alone. Alone to die. Without ever having known the exquisite agony of loving him.

Now, I was just screwed.

T
WENTY
-F
OUR

BY THE TIME BRAD PICKED ME UP
for Mike's party on Friday, it was nearly nine. Mom said nothing as I sailed through the living room, stopped to drop a kiss on her cheek, and grabbed my coat. Dad leveled Brad with his most terrifying father stare and growled out a warning for me to be home by curfew. Normally, I would've tried to wheedle more time, but one look at his face stilled my tongue. Ever since our argument, he'd been cold, aloof. Not the normally happy, easy-going dad my friends had always liked.

Brad ushered me into his truck and then jogged around the front to climb into the driver's seat. “You want to talk about it?” he asked quietly as he turned the key. The truck's engine rolled over with a pained groan that turned into a roaring growl as it caught and fired. “Awful chilly back there.”

We both knew he wasn't talking about the weather.

Lifting my shoulders in a half-shrug, I cleared my throat and gathered my courage to face him, face tonight and the party where Kal would undoubtedly be…face everything. “Just…you know. Normal stuff,” I said. “They weren't too thrilled with that whole Mr. Wilson thing.”

“I'm sure,” he snorted. A grin spread across his face. “That still cracks me up, you know.
‘I don't have a pony in this race.’
Classic.”

Brad threw the truck in gear and within moments, we were tooling down the slick, snow-covered roads, headed toward Mike's house. The party was already in full swing when we got there. Music
blaring out of the house could be heard from miles away. Cars littered the front lawn and lined the street for several blocks in all directions.

I shed my coat almost immediately upon entering the house. Teeming with teenagers, all in various stages of inebriation, the atmosphere was thick with the dull roar of too loud music, shrieking girls, hooting boys, and the cheers erupting from around the keg where Clint Donovan was attempting a keg stand and failing miserably. Brad took my coat and opened the hall closet only to find two girls giggling through a drunken, slobbering, make out session. Shaking his head, he tossed the coats in and slammed the door before I could even get a good look at who was in there.

High school parties were like supernovas. Infant stars full of energy that burned bright, hot and fast. Expending their energy much too quickly, they rocketed up to unimaginably dizzying heights, astounding all who witnessed, only to fizzle out in mid-air, crashing and burning just as the real action began. This was the typical high school party. I gave it probably another hour—two at most—before kids were passed out on the lawn, the music died down, and someone was puking in the kitchen sink.

Winding my way through the crowd proved to take much longer than anticipated. Usually, I had Kal or Ricki or both of them hovering close by at parties. They were the buffer between me and the rest of the world, but now they were gone, having found new groups, new friends to enjoy this time with, and I was left with Brad, Mr. Social Butterfly himself. We stopped every few steps, him having found someone he just had to talk to as if it were a matter of life or death.

It was going to be a matter of life and death if I didn't get through this crowd and get a beer in my hand soon.

Finally, when I had just about reached my breaking point, the sea of people parted, and I left Brad's side in search of liquid courage. Clint's keg stand attempts were still in full-swing, but the crowd of cheerleaders surrounding him had thinned, so it was nothing for me to slide through to the front of the line.

“Mia!” Clint shouted, swaying toward me as he spoke, hot and sour beer breath sailing across my face. “Here to place your bet on
this pony?” He swirled his hips suggestively and then lost his balance, crumbling to the floor amid a flurry of drunken curses.

Up went a chorus of raucous laughter. Hell, even I was chuckling and shaking my head. In the next moment, a red plastic cup was shoved into my hand, and I wandered away from the keg still giggling to myself.

Time slid past as I wandered from room to room. Kids were sprawled out all over the place: on the floor, couches, chairs, even on the dining room table. Even with so many people passed out or just too blitzed to move much, the music was still thumping loudly and there was still an overabundance of people all crowded into the house.

I was talking to Suzie Whitman when the front door swung open, Dave leading the charge of basketball players all home from the game. Judging by the broad grin riding his lips, I assumed we won. Either that or he was just really happy to see Brad, for in the same moment, his eyes lit up and he let out a whoop as his boyfriend crashed into him, knocking him back a couple of steps.

“You're drunk,” Dave laughed, slinging his arm around Brad's shoulders. “Now, where's Mia?” His eyes locked onto mine, and he dragged Brad over to me. “I thought you were supposed to be his wing girl. So, why is he falling-down drunk?”

“Hey,” Brad piped in, clutching his boyfriend's waist for stability. “I'm not drunk.”

“Oh, really?” One of Dave's brows winged up in disbelief. “Then why are you leaning on me like you're about to collapse?”

“I'm not drunk.” The slur to his words would beg to differ. “I've just had a few…enough to be all toasty warm and happy. Anyway,” he purred, walking two fingers up Dave's chest and sliding them between the buttons of his shirt. “Just think of all the ways you can take advantage of me in my intoxicated state.”

“Yeah, can't wait,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

Suzie, face burnt well past boiled-lobster skin, mumbled something about needing a refill and cut a quick retreat.

Dave heaved out a beleaguered sigh. “See, what you do, babe? We're like social lepers sometimes.” He jostled Brad and nodded toward the door Suzie had just disappeared through. He reached
into Brad's pocket, pulled out his keys, and turned to me. “Looks like the party's over for me. How much have you had?” He asked, eyeing my cup.

“Still on my first,” I replied immediately, sticking my hand out to take the keys from him. “And, now I'm done.”

“Thanks, Mia. We'll swing by sometime tomorrow to pick it up.”

“No problem.” I shoved the key ring into my pocket and eyed Brad, who was now leaning quite heavily against Dave. “I won't keep you,” I told him, and a smirk slid up to my lips. “I'm sure you want to get out of here so you can take him home and have your way with him.”

“Right. Like that'll be happening,” he snorted and hefted Brad up to get a firmer grip on him. “I prefer him awake and responsive, and he's about to pass out any minute. Hell, I'll be lucky to get his ass hauled up into the Hummer before he's dead to the world.”

“I'm awake,” Brad slurred. He roused himself enough to peer sleepily up at his boyfriend. “I'll prove it, too. Let's do it. Right here. Right now.”

“Very romantic,” Dave grumbled. “Come on, kid. Let's get you home and into bed.”

Shaking my head and chuckling softly under my breath, I watched as Dave basically carried the mountain of muscle that was his boyfriend out of Mike's house. But when they'd cleared the door, my focus splintered.