Punk 57 (38 page)

“You tainted it all,” I tell him. “All the history. And soon, I’ll barely remember you or how we used to be friends.”

I leave my food and push his arm away, walking over to where Ten sits.

I don’t know if everything I said to Misha right then was true, but my head is in a constant fog. My feelings are clouded, and maybe I just need a long nap, a long swim, or a long drive to clear my head.

All I do know is that I can’t look at him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at myself right now.

I sit down at the table and snatch one of Ten’s fries, nibbling just so I can do something.

“What about your parents?” J.D. asks Trey, obviously in the middle of a conversation.

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

Trey looks at me, and I can feel the chill in his body language. “I’m having a party, remember?” His tone is clipped. “My parents are out of town for the night, but they didn’t say I couldn’t have people over. I don’t suppose you’ll still be able to make it.”

He says it as if he already knows the answer, and I hear Lyla and Katelyn snicker.

A party. I look over my shoulder, seeing Misha plop down in a seat with all of his friends, and I don’t miss the glare he shoots my way.

“Will there be drinks?” I ask, turning back to my table.

“Of course. Lots of drinks.” Trey smirks.

“Well, then. Maybe that’s just what I’m looking for.”

He smiles, and Ten slaps the bill of my cap, joking around. “Hells, yeah.”

Ten and I tread over the Burrowes’ lawn, past the driveway and the street that are already packed. Visions of the last time I was here make my heart pick up pace, and I feel a little weird walking into the house.

Why did Misha need to search this place the other night? Why is he in Falcon’s Well? I was so consumed with the revelation this weekend and dealing with my bullshit meltdowns that I didn’t actually think about why he’s here. I was too busy feeling betrayed.

What had he said? Something about coming here for something and then we were in each other’s faces constantly, and things just got out of hand, one thing led to another, blah, blah, blah…

Yeah.
Ten and I took his things at the Cove, and I was the one to go up and harass him in the lunchroom that first day, but he was still here in the first place. Knowing I was here, too. And hiding in plain sight. The second I kissed him in the truck at the car wash, he should’ve come clean.

“Shit, look at all the people here.” Ten laughs as we walk in.

The floor is flooded with our classmates, crowded into the living room and trailing up the stairs, and I look beyond, out onto the patio, and see the pool and deck packed, as well. People are dancing and drinking, and music blares from speakers set up around the room.

Lots of distraction.

I wear my bikini under my jean shorts and shirt, even though I’m not really planning on getting in the pool. But Ten said he might, and I’m not leaving his side, so...

I’m trying not to think about Trey being a piece of shit pervert or about Lyla and how she would be thrilled to see me fall off my pedestal tonight. If I stay with Ten, maybe I’ll have a drink, dance and laugh, and get sedated long enough to forget the last few weeks for just five damn minutes. I need this. I need to do something to feel normal again.

“I doubt he’s going to make it to prom, girl,” Ten tells me. “If his parents haven’t taken it away already, they will after this.”

“I’m not worried.” I don’t even know if I’m going anymore, and I’m definitely not going with Trey.

We trail outside and hook ourselves up with a couple of beers from the keg, but when Ten lifts a bottle of tequila, I push it back down.

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Why?”

“I’m driving,” I remind him. “You go for it. I’ll stick with a beer.”

He shrugs and pours a dram into the little plastic cup. I wince, smelling the pungent odor. I’ve done tequila before, but that isn’t chilled. How can he do that?

He licks the salt off his hand, tips the shot back, and gives a little grimace before sticking a lemon wedge in his mouth.

I laugh. I’ve known him long enough to know he usually likes his liquor mixed with Coke or juice or something.

“Come on!” He pulls me along. “Let’s dance.”

I smile, taking my beer and feeling a little better already as he leads me over to where the music is. “
Dirty Little Secret”
plays, and the warmth hitting my stomach from the beer filters through my limbs, as I sip my drink and join everyone else, getting lost in the noise and excitement.

Over the next hour, we do nothing but dance. He replaces my empty cup with a water bottle and another beer, and I double check to make sure he’s the one who poured it. The slight buzz I had from the one has smoothed away the edges, but I think it’s more the music and the energy of everyone around us that’s intoxicating.

We jump up and down, laughing and dancing, and Ten leans into my ear. “You feel better now?”

I nod, shouting over the music, “Yes! A lot more relaxed, actually.”

“Yeah, they say alcohol isn’t the answer, but it’s nice to be able to turn off your brain for a little while.”

I finish my drink and toss my cup away, grabbing a bottle of water to drink for the rest of the night as Ten joins me at the bar.

“Another one?” I chirp, pouring him a shot.

He smiles, shooting it back without the salt and lemon this time.

I lean into him, smelling his heady cologne. It feels kind of good to be there for him for a change.

I keep everyone—my friends, my sister, my mom—at a distance, because I started to believe that no one could really like me for me. That’s why I had to change. And any attention my family or Ten gave me was simply them pretending.

That’s why I loved Misha so much. It wasn’t distant. It was close and real, and it felt good.

But good things are still around me, despite what I’ve done to keep them at arm’s length. They’ve been around me the whole time.

Ten pulls away and picks up the bottle again, grabbing the shaker and turning around to look at me. He studies me up and down, twisting his lips to the side.

“What?” I ask.

He jerks his chin at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Spread your legs.”

Huh?

“Come on,” he teases, shaking the salt. “I want to see what you taste like.”

I snort, widening my eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Pleeeease?”

“No!” I burst out, nearly laughing at his sad face.

No way in hell! I am
not
doing that.

Not a chance.

Malcolm beats through the fill, the kick drum vibrating under my feet, and Dane eases in, playing the transition while I keep time on the guitar, backed up by Lotus.

Belting out the lyrics, I feel a high hit me as I close my eyes.

Bookmark it, says the cheerleader

I promise we’ll come back to this spot.

I have shit to do first. You won’t wait a lot.

I can’t make her stay,

and I can’t watch her go.

I’ll keep her hellfire heart,

And bookmark it ‘fore it goes cold.

Malcolm is razor, keeping the energy up, and sweat glides down my back as I savor the rush of playing again. Sticks, a favorite Thunder Bay hangout, has been closed for renovations for over a month, but the owners are still great about letting us use the space when we need to practice without an audience.

Dane’s guitar whines as he cuts off the note and stops playing. “Alright, stop, stop, stop!” he interrupts. “I think we should break it up at the point, add a riff.” He points to Malcolm at the drums. “You back me up with something creative, before we dive back in with vocals.”

“Keep it high-energy,” I say.

But he just sneers at me, like
duh
. “Yeah, I know what you like.”

“Alright, count it off,” Lotus calls out, but I hold up my hand, pulling the guitar strap over my head.

“I need a drink.”

I step off the stage and walk to one of the tables, taking a swig out of the water bottle.

A girl stands behind the bar—one of the owner’s daughters, I think—her chin resting on her hand as she looks at me. She’s about my age. Maybe a year younger.

She looks like Annie. Blonde hair, pert nose, slender shoulders… Annie never listened to me play, though. She wasn’t unsupportive. She was just too busy to take an interest. Of course, I could say the same thing about myself and her hobbies. The only reason I attended as many girls’ volleyball games as I did was because she asked me to be there. She needed people to be proud of her, and I knew why.

The girl smiles at me, and I smile back and then quickly look away.

There was a time when she might’ve been my type. Cute, soft, sweet. But just the memory of Ryen’s nervous breath across my lips before she kissed me that first time in the truck has my body stirring. She’s a complicated, temperamental little mess, but she gets me going.

I pick up my phone and check to see if I have any messages. I’m hoping for anything. A rant. Insults. A bitchy text, telling me to fuck off.

But nothing. I know I should leave her alone and give her space. There are just so many things yet to say, so much she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her before she pushes me away for good.

Maybe she’ll meet me. Tomorrow at my house, and I can tell her everything. I don’t want to ambush her, but maybe she’ll give me a chance if I open myself up and lay everything on the line.

Clicking my Facebook app, I type in her name and go to her profile, deciding I’ll just send her a message and leave the ball in her court. I have to try. If she doesn’t go for it, then I’ll wait for as long as I need to.

But when her profile pops up, I see a video she’s tagged in, and I hesitate. Without giving myself time to think, I click on it, noticing it was only posted a few minutes ago.

Ryen is standing by a pool, surrounded by people drinking and dancing, with one of her thighs turned out as some guy kneels between her legs.