Beverly

Chapter 16

16

BEVERLY, 1998

16 years old

I was a liar. I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but I’d lied to Blake. I didn’t care about “doing things on my own”. I wasn’t trying to “find myself”. I wasn’t proving anything.

Sure, everything I told him was technically true. He was overprotective. He had proved it at the piercing studio when he grilled the poor piercer like he was interrogating a criminal.

But that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want him here.

The real reason was that I knew exactly how the girls at school looked at him, how they all seemed to be secretly pining for him. They didn’t even try to hide it, their eyes practically undressing him. He had that face—like he could be some kind of model or movie star. And it made me feel... I don’t even know. Something between jealousy and insecurity.

It wasn’t like I had a claim over him.

But there was something inside me, something ugly and possessive, something I didn’t want to name.

I didn’t want to spend the whole night watching other girls watch him. I didn’t want to see the way their eyes dragged over him when he walked into a room, their voices going just a little higher, their laughter a little sweeter, the subtle way they angled their bodies toward him.

And most of all, I didn’t want to sit there and pretend I wasn’t doing the exact same thing.

It was pathetic, really, but I couldn’t help it. He always looked so good in those baggy jeans and his oversized flannels, his messy hair falling just right.

I told myself I’d come here to have fun. To dance, to drink something fruity and too sweet, to forget about the way Blake had hovered over me in that piercing studio like I was made of glass. Like he cared. Like it meant something. But as I moved through the party, smiling at familiar faces, accepting a drink from someone whose name I didn’t bother remembering, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to him.

Blake, with his stupidly sharp jawline and his green, unreadable eyes. Blake, who had paid for my piercing without a second thought. Blake, who had looked like he wanted to throw the piercer through a wall for making me wince.

Blake, who I told myself I didn’t want.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The party was already in full swing; the backyard was alive with laughter and dancing. Are You That Somebody by Aaliyah blasted from the speakers that someone had dragged outside.

A string of lights hung over the patio, casting a dim glow over the scene, and the smell of cheap beer and vanilla-scented body spray hung thick in the air. Half of the school was here—some in the pool, splashing around, others lounging on deck chairs, legs stretched out, drinks in hand. Someone had already jumped off the roof into the deep end, and judging by the way Evan was shouting at him, that was definitely not allowed.

Tiffany grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward a group of girls by the lounge chairs. She wore a short black leather skirt, a baby tee that said Whatever, Loser in glittery letters, and knee-high platform boots. Her lips were lined red, glossed to perfection.

“Tell me my hair still looks good,” she said, running her fingers through it.

“You look perfect,” I told her, clutching a solo cup full of something bright blue and suspiciously strong.

I smoothed my hands over the soft fabric of the pink halter top I’d bought last weekend. It was cropped just enough to show a sliver of my stomach, the silver butterfly of my belly piercing catching the light. My silver hoops dangled against my neck, and my hair was blow-dried, loose waves falling over my shoulders.

Then Blake’s words hit me like an unexpected gust of wind, leaving me unsettled. You usually go for, like, baggy tees and jeans…

It wasn’t like he was wrong. I did wear a lot of baggy tees and jeans. But I wore other things too. I wore girly things. Hadn’t he ever noticed? I had cute outfits. I had a pink Victoria’s Secret pajama set that I loved, didn’t I? Just because I didn’t always dress up didn’t mean I couldn’t. And just because I didn’t wear much makeup didn’t mean I wasn’t girly.

But the way he’d said it…like my usual style was a fact, some unshakable truth about me—was that a bad thing? Was he just making an observation, or was there something more beneath his words? Blake never talked about girls. Ever. He never made comments about anyone being cute, never checked girls out when we were walking around together. I had no idea what his type even was. And suddenly, that realization felt like a problem.

“You need to loosen up.” Tiffany nudged me with her elbow, sipping her drink. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”

I sighed and took a sip of my drink, wincing at the taste. Too much vodka, not enough whatever was supposed to mask the vodka. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“God, look at them,” she whispered, jerking her thumb toward a group of guys. “They’re practically drooling over you.”

I followed her gaze, though I wasn’t sure why. A couple of them were glancing our way, but none of it seemed to matter. I wasn’t interested. Not when my head was filled with thoughts of Blake and the ridiculous mess I was trying to avoid.

“You look hot,” she added, tilting her head as she studied me. “Blake would lose his mind if he saw you in that.”

I tensed immediately. “Why would I care what Blake thinks?”

Tiffany arched an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. “Because you do.”

“No,” I shot back. “I don’t.”

She gave me a knowing look. “You two have been attached at the hip since middle school. You follow him around like a little puppy, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at him.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “I do not look at him, Tiffany. We’re family.”

“Uh-huh. So that’s why you didn’t want him here?”

I swallowed. “He would’ve been annoying.”

“He would’ve been a distraction.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Drop it, Tiff.”

She shrugged, but the smirk never left her face. “Fine. But if you don’t want him, someone else is going to snatch him up.”

I hated how that made my stomach tighten. My first instinct was to lie, to deflect and pretend like this was all in her head.

But Tiffany wasn’t an idiot, and she had known me long enough to see through all my defenses.

Before I could respond, a guy walked up to us, tall and tan with bleached hair that was probably supposed to look effortless but definitely took work. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of red swim trunks, and his grin was cocky in a way that made me instantly wary.

“Damn, y’all look good tonight,” he drawled, giving us both a once-over. “And you look like you could use a refill.”

Tiffany flashed her best flirty smile. “That depends. Who’s offering?”

“Name’s Drew.” He held out a hand like we were supposed to shake it. Tiffany did. I didn’t. His eyes lingered on me a little too long. “You go to Lincoln High?”

“Nope,” Tiffany answered for me, reaching for a bottle of Coke and pouring herself a cup. “Private school girls. Super exclusive.”

I shot her a look.

The guy raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

Tiffany smirked. “Nah.”

I sighed as she kept the conversation going. She was in her element—flirting effortlessly, tossing her hair, making every guy within a five-foot radius fall under her spell.

I, on the other hand, was barely listening.

Because all I could think about was Blake.

Would he be asleep already? Probably not. He never slept early. He was probably reading some dense book about Nietzsche or statistics or something that would make my brain hurt. Or maybe he was staring at the ceiling, angry, wondering why I didn’t want him here.

I picked at my nails, trying to fight back the image of him.

Tiffany turned to me. “Are you even trying to have fun?”

I forced a smile, trying not to think about what Blake would say if he were here. Would he ask if I was okay? Would he lecture me about being careful around people like Drew?

“Yeah,” I lied. “This is great.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”

“I’m having fun.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’re thinking about Blake.”

“Shut up,” I hissed, glancing around, suddenly paranoid that Drew or anyone else would hear it.

Tiffany just smirked, sipping her drink. “You’re so obvious.”

“I don’t—” I lowered my voice, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Can we please drop it?”

She waved a hand. “Bev, you can’t hide it forever. He’s not your real brother, you know. It’s not like he’s off-limits.”

“Tiffany, that’s not the point.”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

I shook my head, taking a sip of my drink just to have something to do. “You’re wrong.”

Tiffany hummed, not looking convinced at all. I huffed, ignoring her as she turned her attention back to Drew.

But the damage was done.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Blake now.

I didn’t want to be here.

I didn’t want to talk to these guys.

I didn’t want to pretend that I wasn’t constantly looking for him, even when he wasn’t around.

I just wanted to go home.

I just wanted Blake.

Drew’s gaze slid to me, and I forced another tight smile, taking a small step closer to Tiffany.

“So,” he said, tipping his chin toward my drink. “What are you drinking?”

I swirled the liquid in my cup. “Something blue.”

He laughed like I was being funny. I wasn’t.

“I’ll get you something better,” he said, already reaching for my cup.

I pulled it back. “I’m good, thanks.”

Tiffany shot me a look but didn’t say anything.

Drew didn’t seem fazed.

He turned his attention back to her. “How about you?”

“I wouldn’t say no to another drink.”

Of course she wouldn’t.

Drew grinned. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, Tiffany smacked my arm. “What is wrong with you? He was cute.”

“He was full of himself.”

“That’s the point, Bev. This isn’t a date. It’s a party. You’re supposed to have fun.”

She wasn’t wrong. People didn’t come to Evan’s parties for the music. They came to drink, hook up, and pretend Monday wasn’t just around the corner.

I sighed, looking around again. People were dancing now, a few bodies moving a little too close together. The smell of weed drifted through the air, mixing with the chlorine and beer.

I could see the way some of the girls were looking at the boys. Eyes following them like hungry little wolves. I could only imagine what would happen if Blake was here. He wasn’t there, but it felt like he was everywhere. In the back of my mind, in the way I moved, in the way I checked over my shoulder.

“I’m having fun,” I lied again.

“No, you’re babysitting your drink and avoiding eye contact with literally everyone.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just don’t want to deal with some random guy trying to get in my pants.”

“Then maybe you should admit who you actually want to be here with.”

I shot her a glare, but she just grinned knowingly.

Drew came back, handing Tiffany a drink and draping an arm over her shoulder like he’d known her for years.

She giggled, leaning into him, and I realized I was officially the third wheel. I finished the rest of my drink in one go, wincing at the burn, and set the cup down on the nearest table. Maybe I did need to loosen up. Maybe I was just being stupid.

I glanced at the pool again, at the way the glow sticks floated across the water, at the way the music thumped through my chest. Then I thought about Blake—what he’d say if he were here. Probably something about how the pool was a cesspool of bacteria.

I smiled to myself.

And just like that, I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy this party. Not because it wasn’t fun, not because Tiffany was off flirting with some guy whose name I’d already forgotten. But because the only person I actually wanted to be around wasn’t here.

And I had no one to blame for that but myself.

* * *

“I need you to see this.”

I barely had time to blink before Tiffany shoved me into the kitchen, where a group of guys were crowded around the island, cheering as Evan tipped his head back and let someone pour straight vodka down his throat.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, my eyes widening as I watched him sputter and cough while everyone whooped in approval. “That’s going to end badly.”

The moment shattered. Because I heard Blake’s name.

I stiffened immediately.

Tiffany must’ve noticed because she leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

I turned my head, my pulse quickening.

And that’s when I saw them.

A group of girls by the staircase, whispering and giggling.

I couldn’t hear everything, but I caught enough.

“Did you see him at the movies last week?”

“He gets hotter every year.”

“God, I would die if he ever looked at me like that.”

The words burned into my skull.

I ripped myself away from Tiffany’s arm. “I need fresh air.”

It was in that moment—when I left the kitchen, when I shoved my way through the crowd, the air too thick, my heartbeat too loud—that I realized what they were talking about.

Blake was here .

I felt him before I saw him. Felt the weight of his presence settle into my bones like muscle memory, like a force of nature I couldn’t ignore even if I tried.

His sharp green eyes were already locked onto mine. Watching me. His jaw was tight, like he was trying to decide whether he should be pissed off or apologetic.

My heart clenched painfully, tightening with every second I spent staring at him. I barely heard the laughter, the bass of the music, the hum of voices—everything dulled under the weight of that single fact.

Blake was here. And he looked good.

He stood near the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, slightly apart from the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, wearing that same damn flannel he always wore. The one l’d stolen more times than I could count.

Then I noticed it.

His hair.

Or, rather, what was left of it.

His hair was gone. Buzzed. Almost military-short, stripped down to nothing but a shadow of what used to be there.

The soft, messy strands I’d run my fingers through during his panic attack, the ones I’d tugged when he annoyed me, the ones I’d braided once just to piss him off— gone.

I hated it. I hated how sharp it made his features look, how it made his jawline stand out more, made his green eyes seem sharper, colder. I hated that it made him look older.

I hated that I suddenly wanted to touch it anyway.

Fighting against the painful ache in my chest, I swallowed.

Why ?

Why would he do that?

I wanted to ask him. I wanted to march across the room, grab him by the shoulders, and demand an explanation.

But I couldn’t move.

I took a shaky breath, casting a quick glance at Jamal, who was beside Blake, smirking in my direction, clearly amused by something. I didn’t know what it was—maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe it was the way Blake looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

But before I could even process the situation, before I could say a word, a shriek pierced through the air.

“JAMAL!”

Blake flinched at the volume of it, but Jamal just grinned, completely unbothered.

Tiffany stormed across the living room, pushing past a couple making out against the staircase, her eyes practically on fire. Her drink sloshed in her hand, but she didn’t seem to care about the mess she was making as she closed in on Jamal.

He tilted his head just enough to catch Blake’s eyes. “Oh no,” he mouthed, amused. “I’ve been caught.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here!” Tiffany screeched, her voice cutting through the noise of the party like a blade.

“Damn, Tiff.” Jamal laughed. “You say that like you think you have any actual authority over me.”

“I do,” she shot back. “I literally told you not to come. Jamal, I swear to God, if you don’t leave?—”

“Ohhh,” he dragged out the syllable. “You swear to God? Damn, now I’m scared.”

I blinked, torn between amusement and horror.

Blake sighed beside him, rubbing a hand over his freshly buzzed head before muttering, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

That was when Tiffany turned her attention to Blake.

“And you,” she snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Blake grimaced, already looking exhausted. “I?—”

“She’s talking to me,” Jamal cut in, stepping in front of Blake like a human shield. “I mean, yeah, I dragged him here, but let’s be honest—he wanted to come.”

Blake shot him a glare. “I did not want to come.”

Jamal snorted. “You literally spent the last two days sulking about how you weren’t invited.”

Blake’s jaw ticked. “That’s not what happened.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jamal turned to Tiffany. “He’s been miserable, Tiff. Like, staring at walls and contemplating the meaning of life. I had to do something. I’m saving him.”

Tiffany folded her arms. “You’re annoying him.”

“He’ll thank me one day.”

“Jamal.”

“Tiffany.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oh my God.”

Tiffany still looked like she was ready to strangle Jamal, and Jamal still looked way too entertained by the whole thing.

But my focus wasn’t on them anymore.

It was on Blake.

His gaze was sharp, assessing, like he was trying to figure out if I was mad at him for being here.

I was.

And I wasn’t.

And I didn’t know what I was.

“B,” Blake said slowly. “I didn’t want to come?—”

“Right,” I said flatly.

“I didn’t. I wanted to respect your space, I swear. I wasn’t going to show up.” He shot Jamal a look. “I didn’t know he was bringing me here until we were already in the car.”

“Because you were moping,” Jamal chimed in.

Blake ignored him.

I looked away.

Blake noticed. He stepped forward, closing some of the space between us. “You didn’t want me here,” he murmured. “I get that. But I also—” He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I wasn’t okay.

Not since I’d noticed his buzzed hair.

“You cut it,” I blurted.

Blake blinked. “What?”

I swallowed. “Your hair. You cut it.”

A pause. Then, quietly, “Yeah.”

“Why?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It was getting in the way.”

I didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

Blake loved his hair. He never admitted it, but I knew.

And now it was gone. Just like that.

“I liked it,” I admitted.

Blake stared at me, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, “I know.”

Something lodged itself in my throat.

“Jamal,” Tiffany snapped, “you have ruined my entire night!”

“Dramatic much?”

“Oh, go choke on your own ego.”

Jamal grinned. “Aw, babe. That sounded personal.”

Blake and I exchanged a glance. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what we were even saying to each other in that look.

I had to get out of here.

I huffed, turning on my heel. “I need more to drink.”

Blake caught my wrist before I could take another step. “Wait.”

The heat of his fingers burned into my skin, grounding me, pulling me back in before I could slip away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

“For what?” I whispered.

“For being here. For—” He let out a breath. “For everything.”

I closed my eyes for half a second, willing myself not to react.

I failed. Because when I looked at him again, I felt it.

The pull. The ache.

The thing I never wanted to name.

Blake’s gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate, from my silver hoops to the pink halter top that clung to my skin, to the low-rise jeans that revealed just enough of my stomach to make his jaw tick.

I arched a brow, daring him. Come on, say something.

I knew there was a remark on the tip of his tongue; I could see it in the slight parting of his lips, in the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, like he was committing something to memory. Like he wanted to speak but wasn’t sure if he should.

“Blake McHayes,” I said, crossing my arms. “I dare you to complain about my outfit.”

His lips twitched as he looked me up and down one more time—slower this time, like he was memorizing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“I wasn’t going to. You can wear whatever you want, B.”

I lifted my chin. “Damn right, I can.”

A teasing smile formed on his lips, but his gaze sharpened slightly, flicking past me, scanning the party like he was already making mental calculations.

And then, just as fast as he’d let me think I’d won, he leaned in and added, “I’m here now,” his voice low enough that only I could hear it. “I can fight whoever looks at you the wrong way.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I was expecting.

Blake didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed Jamal by the collar, ignoring his protests, and dragged him toward the couch in the corner of the room where a few guys sat, lazily watching the party unfold. Like he hadn’t just thrown gasoline on the very fire I was trying to put out.

Jamal groaned, slumping onto the couch dramatically. “You really had to manhandle me like that?”

Blake didn’t answer. He just sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him like he had no intentions of moving any time soon. His arm draped lazily over the backrest, his fingers tapping against the cushion. His eyes scanned the party, half-interested, half-guarded, like he was already plotting out the fastest way to grab me and pull me out if things went south.

I stood there, frozen in place, feeling the ghost of his words press against my skin like fingerprints.

I swallowed hard, heat simmering under my skin, and turned away before I did something stupid. Like stare at him all night.

“Well, that was something.”

I glared at Tiffany, who was smirking.

“Don’t,” I warned, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t say it.”

She sipped her drink, the picture of fake innocence. “Say what?”

I scowled. “Whatever you’re about to say.”

A grin spread across her face. “Oh, I’m so going to.”

“I hate you,” I muttered, turning away.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Tiffany grabbed my arm before I could escape. “You love me. Just like you love?—”

I cut her off with a sharp look. “Don’t.”

Her grin turned downright wicked. “I was gonna say Brad Pitt, jeez,” she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

I huffed, yanking my arm free. “I swear, you live to torment me.” With a sigh, I rubbed my temples. “Can we just pretend none of this happened?”

Tiffany tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm…no.”

Of course not.

She crossed her arms, leaning in. “So. What’s the move?”

I blinked. “What move?”

She gave me an exasperated look. “What are you going to do now that your not-brother is here, sulking in a corner, acting like he doesn’t want to fight every guy who looks at you?”

“He’s not sulking,” I argued, even though I definitely saw him scanning the room like he was building a hit list.

Tiffany raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe he is sulking, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. You know exactly what it means.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her grin widened. “It so matters.”

I clenched my jaw, ignoring the way my heart pounded violently. I didn’t want this to mean anything. I didn’t want to sit here and dissect every glance, every word, every stupid, tiny moment. Because if I did, I knew exactly where my thoughts would take me. And I didn’t like where they were going.

“I need another drink.”

“Beverly Price!” Tiffany gasped. “Are you trying to drink away your Blake feelings ?”

“I swear to God?—”

Before I could finish my threat, Drew reappeared, still shirtless, still way too cocky. “Hey, you disappeared on me,” he said, flashing a grin like I owed him something.

I forced a polite smile. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Drew’s eyes flicked between me and Tiffany before he settled back on me. “So, you wanna dance?”

Tiffany nudged me, not subtly at all. “Yeah, Bev, do you wanna dance?”

I shot her a glare that she ignored completely before turning back to Drew. I should’ve said no. I wasn’t in the mood, and the last thing I wanted was to have some random guy’s hands on me, especially one whose name I had to think twice about.

But Blake was here.

Blake was watching.

Blake was brooding in the corner like a dark cloud.

And some stupid, reckless, self-destructive part of me wanted him to see. I didn’t even know why. Maybe I wanted to prove something—to him, to myself. Maybe I wanted to remind myself that I could be around other guys, that my world didn’t begin and end with Blake McHayes and his stupid green eyes and the way his voice scraped over my skin like rough velvet.

Maybe I wanted him to feel something.

So I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, loud enough that I knew Blake would hear me, even over the music.

Drew grinned like he’d already won, his fingers curling around my wrist as he tugged me toward the crowd.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t have to.

I already knew Blake was watching.