21. Claire
Chapter twenty-one
Claire
“What about that one?” I suggest, nodding at a girl laughing as she splashes water on her bronze skin. It glistens on her taut stomach, and though her face is obscured by sunglasses, she looks cute.
Moose growls his dissent without even looking up from the book before him, which has a boring title and looks like nonfiction. I have my doubts whether he’s actually reading or just looking at a porn magazine tucked inside it, but every time I look over it’s just to see the cream paper with lots of small words printed on it. I don’t know if they even make porn magazines anymore, now that I think about it.
We’re set up on the beach, just steps away from the vacation home behind us. The water is also close, brought higher by the tide coming in. We’ve been out here all day, again. Just like yesterday. I’ve been as social as I can manage, chatting with old acquaintances and finding what everyone has been up to, what their plans are after graduation, dodging questions about my own plans.
Social work is hardly glamorous, so when I tell people I’m going to apply for the department of Oregon Human Services, their eyes glaze and I get out of getting any deeper into the conversation. Because the truth is, I want to help. I want to do good. But I don’t want to be a part of the same system that failed me. You could argue, I suppose, that I can make the system better by being a worthy advocate, but I don’t really want to make the system better. I want to dismantle it from a distance and replace it with something better. I just haven’t found out what that is yet .
“She’s cute…” I say, trying to tempt him into looking up at the girl I just chose as his potential conquest.
“Bunnies are cute, Monroe. I’m not interested in cute.”
“So, you want someone hot?” I surmise, scanning the beach again.
There’s no shortage of young women who would be glad to hook up with Moose. I’ve seen how they all look at him, throwing heavy glances his way to see if he looks up and their eyes meet. But he never does.
“I don’t want anyone at all, princess. As fun as it is to watch you try to be my pimp, you can give it up. If I wanted to fuck someone, I would.”
I narrow my eyes at him on that, wondering whether he means he’d just take what he wants. “You’re scared of women, aren’t you? That’s it. That’s your big fear.”
I expect to get a wry laugh out of him, but he just meets my gaze. “I already told you, I’m not scared of something I can crush under my boot.”
Maybe it’s the heat or the fact that I’m suffocating myself to try and look like I’m not insane, but his words trigger me more than they should.
“You are such a fucking ass!” I yell, scrambling to my feet to get away from him. He is maddening. He has been from the start, but I keep having these moments where I think I can trust him, where I think we could be friends. And then he goes and says something that just reminds me he is another man who takes what he wants, says what he wants, and does what he wants without regards for how it affects anyone else.
“And yet, you love me.” He calls after me, unbothered.
I’m relieved that he doesn’t follow me into the house. I think by now he’s decided that none of the twelve other occupants of the rental are any kind of threat to us. We’re all just what Rhea said—a bunch of college kids who knew each other before Moose and Eli ever entered our orbit, enjoying the throes of our freedom .
Except, I don’t feel free.
I feel tethered, stuck. And I don’t know what I am stuck to.
No, that’s a lie. I do know what I am stuck to.
It’s him.
Remy.
I fucking hate that I still think about him so much, that I think a part of me will always be owned by him. Maybe that’s just what first love is like. Maybe you give your heart to someone, and you get back half of it, and you learn to live with what’s left. If that’s the case, it’s better not to fall in love. And it’s definitely better not to do it often.
Rhea slings an arm around me the minute I step through the back door, pulling me with her to the kitchen. Lucy takes up at my other side, boxing me in.
“What’s going on?” I demand, still salty from my dick-ish bodyguard reminding me that all men are the same.
“Don’t fight it.” Lucy advises, giggling as they lead me around the corner.
“Surprise!”
A chorus of the word smacks me in the face as nearly two dozen people jump up from where they’ve been hiding behind the massive kitchen island. A banner above it says “happy birthday”.
“Happy birthday, Claire!” Rhea yells out above everyone else, letting go of me to take two of the shot glasses lined up on the counter. She presses one into my hand and takes the other herself.
They threw me a surprise party. In the house we’ve all already been staying in.
I blink, watching her face, which is amused. “Oh, come on.” She argues. “You’re twenty-one finally . We had to do something to celebrate!”
I never did much for birthdays before meeting her, and it still feels weird to take the day to celebrate myself. She’s always made a big deal about birthdays, but usually I can talk her into something mild for myself… a fancy dinner, a day at the zoo. I even dragged her to a theme park for my nineteenth and rode a roller coaster for the first time.
But a surprise party feels ridiculous, especially given that we’ve been partying the whole time we’ve been here.
I guess there’s no getting out of it now. Austin wraps me in a half hug. “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks.” I say hesitantly. I haven’t been avoiding him, but I also haven’t made it a point to be in the same room with him for long. Fortunately, Eli takes his place, edging him out to give me a hug, too.
“Twenty-one.” He grins. “That’s exciting.”
“Is it?” I raise an eyebrow, appraising his assessment. I’ve been drinking for years without care. I drank so much last summer, I was sober most of the school year. Even now, it isn’t doing anything significant. I’d used it as a coping mechanism before, but I’m not about to use it to cope with my boredom. I’m drinking because I’m here, because it’s what’s expected, not because it feels like a birthright I’ve finally inherited.
“You can finally throw away that fake I.D. Skipper made for you our sophomore year.” Rhea laughs.
Hearing his name, Skipper looks up at me. “You still have that thing?”
“Of course she does.” Rhea laughs. “She just turned twenty-one today! She’s needed it all this time.”
“That was one of the first fakes I made.” Skipper chuckles, combing his hand through his mop of brown curls. “I’m honored that you helped me find my calling in digital design.”
“Glad I could help.” I tell him, laughing and setting the shot glass, still full, on the counter. “Excuse me.”
I take advantage of Rhea’s distractedness to slip out of the room, feeling crowded out by these strangers who just want to celebrate with me. It feels wrong to be so uninterested, so unable to accept their care.
I don’t want to go back outside, so I slip up to the room I’ve been sharing with Rhea and dig into my suitcase ‘til I find what I’m looking for. I flop onto the bed with the burner phone in hand and power it on, drawing the pillow against my chest.
I haven’t figured out how I’m going to shake Moose if and when my anonymous benefactor tells me where Wes is, but that doesn’t stop me from praying that he finally came through.
I wonder idly if anyone downstairs has enough sleeping pills to drug a two-hundred-pound Moose. If I just get a good head start, I can get far enough away that they won’t be able to find me until I want them to.
When the phone powers on, it flashes with the icon of one new message, and my heart skips a beat.
As much as I want to do this, I’m not stupid. I could be walking right into my own demise, trying to trap him like this. But it’s a risk I’ve decided is worth taking. Too many people hold my freedom in their hands. Too many people are keeping me from figuring my shit out. Wes, Davos, Remy, Moose.
I only want to kill one of them, but I need all the others to stand back and let it happen… or I need to evade them all until it’s done.
Tapping on the icon, a series of numbers pops up on my screen, giving me a moment’s pause. And then realization sets in that I’m looking at a set of coordinates. I’m just tapping on them to see where they take me when the door opens. I nearly jump out of my skin to find Moose staring at me from the doorway.
“What?” I demand, covering my misdeeds with irritation.
He raises his hands like he can deflect my attitude. “Just checking on the birthday princess.” He says, his eyes roving over me. I already locked the phone and dropped it on the bed, making no attempt to hide it, which would only look suspicious.
“And I’m just taking a moment to myself.” I force a smile. “You’re interfering.”
That doesn’t bother him, of course. He eases into the room, leaving the door open. “You don’t want the attention? ”
“Nope.” I pop my lips. “Despite what you may think, I’m not an attention whore. And those people downstairs are not my friends.”
“Harsh.” Moose chuckles, dropping down on the bed at my side, making me dip with the weight of him on my mattress. He laces his fingers behind his head and leans back contentedly, as if he isn’t overstepping some boundaries right now. “They care about you.”
“They don’t know me.” I snap, moving away from him and sliding the phone onto the pillow on the ground, lest he make a grab for it.
“Do you know you?”
“Fuck off, Moose.” I roll off the bed, standing up. “I came here to get away from you, not for a philosophy lesson.”
Moose only grins, rolling over onto his side and propping himself up with an elbow. “No philosophy lesson here, princess. Just curious.”
“Well, don’t be.” I shrug. “Nothing interesting here.”
Almost a year after nearly having a breakdown about my lack of direction in life, I’m still just as lost, a single ship in a vast ocean without a lighthouse to guide me away from the rocks. That realization hurts more than I want to admit.
“I disagree.” Moose says softly. “I think you’re interesting.”
“Do you?” I mock, my voice bitter. “What is it you find so compelling about me? Is it the way I zone out in class and stare into space? Is it the way I’m so social? Or have you fallen for my sparkling personality?”
His soft lips tip into a smirk. “None of the above. You’re just not as bad as you think.”
“Wow.” I simper. “You’re really great at this. You missed your calling as a life coach.”
Moose chuckles, rising off the bed so that he can stand flush with me. “Stop thinking, Monroe. Just start doing.”
“You stopped me when I tried that.” I snap, reminding him of his intrusion on my date.
“I don’t mean stop thinking altogether. And I don’t mean do whatever you want without thinking about the consequences. I mean, stop thinking about who you are and start doing stuff that will make you who you want to be.”
It’s quiet as I stare at him, wondering where the hell that sage advice came from. It is good advice. The only problem is, I don’t really know who I want to be either. But I know who I don’t want to be, and that’s probably a good start.
“It’s not too late to go back to college and switch your major to psychology.” I tell him. “You seem to like messing with people’s heads.”
“I’ve got an engineering degree collecting dust back home.” He grins, waving me off.
Silence falls between us as I contemplate what our relationship is. I’m not interested in him, and I don’t think he’s interested in me. Maybe it’s just the sheer amount of time we’ve spent together over the course of the last few months, but it feels like something has shifted from where we began. I might actually have another friend besides Rhea.
“Thank you,” I say finally. “I appreciate you.”
Moose makes a face, looking disgusted. “Ah, that’s it.” He takes a step back, shaking his head. “You’ve discovered my only fear.”
“Being… thanked?”
“Nope. Making me nice.” He shivers to illustrate his point, and I reach for the pillow still on the bed so I can chuck it at his head.
I’d have got him, too, if he didn’t dance out of the way, chuckling as he draws his phone out of his pocket.
I wonder if it’s Remy calling with some ridiculous order for him and almost shout for him to hang up and come back to bed, just to piss Remy off and fuck with his head a little. But the smile slips off Moose’s face, and he tears his eyes from me.
He doesn’t do it before I can see the worry there.