Beverly

Chapter 38

38

BLAKE, 1999

18 years old

It had been eight days.

Eight days since Mexico. Eight days since I broke apart in Beverly’s arms. Eight days since she told me we were going home and made good on that promise without hesitation. Jamal didn’t even ask questions when she woke him up at 3 AM, just grumbled “you two are exhausting,” and told us to pack.

And now, here I was, back in California, standing in the middle of Sydney’s birthday party, pretending to have fun.

She had wanted this. A big celebration. And I had told myself I could do it. I could show up, stay by her side, and play the role.

I told myself that three times before I got in the car and twice more before I walked through the door of Sydney’s house.

But the second I stepped inside, the air closed in around me. The smell of warm beer and sweat and cheap weed clung to everything. The living room was a mess of half-empty cups, crumpled napkins, and bodies pressed too close together.

Someone was doing body shots off the kitchen counter.

Someone else was jumping into the pool fully clothed.

I wasn’t drunk, but I wished I was.

Jamal had somehow gotten roped into DJing, which at least meant the music was decent. Too Close by Next was playing, and I could already see the way the girls swayed to it.

Sydney’s laugh rang out above the music, and I forced myself to focus. I turned my head just in time to see her toss her hair over her shoulder, grinning at something one of her friends had said. She was glowing. Brown hair curled perfectly, lips glossy, that black dress hugging her frame like it was made for her.

She was the kind of girl other guys would kill to have close, the kind who turned heads just by existing.

Her dark eyes flicked to mine through the crowd every few seconds. She had spent the whole night glued to my side, her hand finding my arm, her fingers tracing the veins on my wrist, her lips brushing my ear whenever she whispered something meant just for me. And I let her. Because it was her birthday. Because she was my friend. Because I liked her. I really did. Sydney was funny, sharp, and confident in a way that kept me on my toes. She never pried too deep and never asked for more than I was willing to give.

She liked me for what I was—whatever the hell that meant. I didn’t deserve someone like her. And yet, she wanted me anyway.

Sydney was also good at pretending.

She pretended she didn’t care that I had barely spoken to her in a week. She pretended she didn’t notice the way my shoulders tensed when she touched me. She pretended she didn’t see the way my eyes searched the room for someone else.

Her red lipstick was still perfect, even after a drink or two, and every time she smiled, guys looked at her like they’d do anything just to be noticed by her.

She barely noticed.

She was too busy watching me.

I knew what she wanted. I’d known all night.

I could feel it—the expectation, the way her touches lingered, the way her body tilted toward mine, and the way her eyes flicked to my mouth every time I spoke. And that was the problem. Because it didn’t matter how many nights I spent with Sydney’s fingers tracing circles against my arm. It didn’t matter how much I tried to lose myself in someone else’s laugh, someone else’s smile, someone else’s warmth. None of it was enough.

None of it was Beverly.

I knew I wasn’t going to give Sydney what she wanted.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

I shifted my water bottle from one hand to the other, watching Jamal dramatically demonstrate some terrible dance move in the living room. Tiffany, already a bit tipsy, sat on the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in one hand, critiquing everyone’s outfits like she was hosting a fashion show. The whole thing felt hazy, like I wasn’t really here, just watching it from the outside. Like I could blink and be somewhere else. Like I could blink and be back in that hotel room with B’s arms around me, whispering, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.

A soft, gentle touch on my wrist pulled me back to the present. Sydney appeared beside me before I could move, her lips curving into a slow, teasing smile.

She reached for my hand, her fingers curling around mine. “Having fun?”

I forced a small smile. “Yeah.”

She inched closer. “I’m really glad you came,” she murmured. “I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

“I told you I’d be here.”

She tilted her head up at me, her lips painted a shade of red that had probably taken her ten minutes to perfect. “Dance with me?”

I hesitated.

She caught it immediately. “Come on, Blake,” she coaxed. “Don’t make me beg on my birthday.”

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair before nodding. “One dance.”

Her smile stretched wide.

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the living room, where the music was so loud I could barely think. Bodies moved around us, heat pressing in from all sides. Nice & Slow by Usher had just started playing, and I immediately regretted saying yes.

Sydney turned to face me, her hands sliding up my arms, settling on my shoulders. I let my hands settle on her hips, keeping enough space between us that she felt the distance.

But she wasn’t having it. “Blake,” she teased, smiling up at me, “I’m the birthday girl, remember? I get all your attention tonight.”

I huffed out something like a laugh. “Yeah?”

Hell, I was counting the seconds until I could leave.

She nodded. “Yeah.” Then, as if the thought had just hit her, she bit her lip. “You know what I just realized?” she murmured, her lips dangerously close to mine.

“What?” I raised a brow.

“I haven’t gotten my birthday kiss yet.”

I swallowed, my grip on her waist loosening.

She was looking up at me through her lashes, waiting, expecting, as if this was inevitable. Her eyes flicked to my mouth, lingering there. “You gonna fix that?”

I should have kissed her. It was what I was supposed to do. Sydney was exactly the kind of girl I should have wanted—the kind of girl I should have been kissing in a room full of people.

But I couldn’t.

Not when I’d be picturing blue eyes the entire time.

Without hesitation, I stepped back.

Sydney blinked, her smile faltering.

I cleared my throat. “Hold that thought,” I said with a smile, searching for the first excuse I could find. “I need a drink.”

Before she could stop me, I disappeared into the crowd.

I had no reason to be here anymore.

I had played the role I was supposed to play—I showed up, stood beside her when she blew out the candles, and let her wrap her arms around my waist in front of her friends.

I had done my part.

I was too busy drowning in my own head to notice Jamal until he was right in front of me. “There you are,” he said. “I?—”

“Where’s Beverly?”

I hadn’t even meant to say it. The words slipped out like muscle memory, but my mind hadn’t fully caught up with the reality that she wasn’t mine to ask about.

Jamal gave me a knowing look, then exhaled. “She’s upstairs. With Nathan. He was bragging earlier about how tonight was ‘his night.’” He made air quotes around the words.

I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to do anything. But my feet were already carrying me up the stairs, past couples making out, oblivious to the fact that they were in my damn way.

I took the stairs two at a time. I didn’t know what I expected to find. I didn’t know what I was planning to do when I found them. I didn’t even know why I was doing this.

That was a lie. I did know.

I had spent weeks pretending I didn’t care who she was with, pretending it didn’t wreck me every time I saw her touch him, smile at him, laugh at his stupid jokes.

I had spent weeks letting her be with someone else.

I reached the top of the stairs, scanning the dim hallway. Doors were open, people spilling in and out of rooms, voices loud, music blaring from somewhere down the hall. I didn’t even know what room I was looking for until I heard Beverly’s voice.

Panic slammed into my chest like a sledgehammer.

I knew Beverly better than anyone, and there was something off about the way she said Nathan’s name.

“Come on,” Nathan’s slurred voice followed.

“Stop—”

Something cold crawled down my spine.

“Come on, Bev, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to?—”

I followed his voice to the last door on the left, which was cracked open just enough to see inside. He was leaning over her, his hands gripping her arms, his body caging hers against the mattress. She was twisting beneath him, trying to shove him off.

“Get off her. Now .”

Nathan looked over his shoulder, blinking as if he couldn’t quite figure out how I’d gotten there. “We’re just talking?—”

“You okay, B?” I asked her, but my eyes never left Nathan.

She didn’t answer right away.

“You okay?” I asked again, my voice sharper this time.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine.”

Her voice was off—small and shaky and not like her at all.

“See?” Nathan’s grip on her arm didn’t loosen. “She’s fine .”

I saw red.

I grabbed him by the collar and ripped him away from her. “You wanna put your hands on her?” I snapped. “Try it now.”

He held up his hands, eyes wide. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her?—”

“She told you to stop.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed. “Girls act all innocent, but deep down?—

God, help me.

The first punch caught him in the jaw.

The second came before he had a chance to react.

“Blake!” Beverly screamed, but I barely heard her.

Nathan staggered backward, clutching his face as he crashed into the nightstand. A lamp toppled over and shattered on the floor with a deafening crash that echoed through the room.

He blinked at me, dazed for half a second, before his face twisted with rage. “This is why no one fucking likes you, man. You’re out of your goddamn mind. You think you can just?—”

“You don’t ever lay a hand on her again,” I shot back. “If you so much as think about her again, I swear to God, you’ll regret it.”

“She’s my girlfriend. ”

“Not anymore,” Beverly snapped. “You crossed the line.”

“I knew you wanted her,” he muttered, wiping his busted lip. “Everyone fucking knew.” He laughed before he sneered, “Jesus, you’re crazy. You hate that I’m the one touching her, don’t y?—”

My fist connected with his jaw again, snapping his head to the side so fast his body followed it. He crashed to the floor, groaning as he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“Jesus Christ,” someone shouted from the hallway.

My knuckles flared with pain. My hands were shaking.

“Blake, stop . Please, Blake, stop.” Beverly’s fingers curled into the back of my shirt. “That’s enough, okay? Let’s just go.”

But I barely heard her. Nathan charged at me, swinging wild, drunken punches. I was sober and angry enough to dodge them and landed another hit, sending him sprawling to the floor again.

“Blake!”

I turned to look at her, my head spinning from the way she screamed my name. “Did he hurt you?”

Her lips parted, eyes softening. “No. I’m fine, he’s just drunk. He wasn’t listening. But I?—”

I was going to kill him.

“Just stop,” she said, her voice shaking. “Please… I’m fine.”

For a second, I hesitated.

That was all Nathan needed.

The next thing I knew, his fist collided with my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs. I stumbled back, my vision going white at the edges. And then he tackled me.

We hit the floor hard. His body pinned mine down, but I didn’t care. Despite the crushing pressure in my chest, my knee came up, slamming into his ribs. Nathan grunted, grabbing a fistful of my shirt, trying to get the upper hand.

“Get downstairs, B.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving you here?—”

“Go,” I shouted, louder than I meant to.

Beverly’s eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t argue this time. She nodded quickly before she rushed out of the room.

Nathan swung another wild, sloppy punch, but I saw it coming. I ducked just in time, and his fist slammed into the floor with a sickening crunch. Before he could pull back, my knee shot up again, connecting with his groin. The blow left him gasping for air, giving me the opening I needed. With all the strength I had, I shoved him off. His body flew sideways, and I scrambled to my feet, my hands trembling as I pushed myself up.

I didn’t have time to catch my breath before he lunged at me again. I faked left, then darted right, using the momentum to drive my elbow into his ribs with all the force I could muster.

A pair of hands yanked me back.

I twisted violently, fist swinging on instinct.

Jamal caught my wrist before I could make contact. “You’ve got to be kidding. We’ve been here for one hour, Blake. One hour .”

I shook him off, my focus snapping back to Nathan.

His face was a mess of bruises. I swallowed, but the tightness in my throat made it feel like I was choking.

If Jamal hadn’t pulled me back, I would’ve kept going.

I would’ve kept hitting him until my fists couldn’t anymore.

Nathan stumbled forward, blood leaking from his split lip. “You think you’re tough?” he slurred. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. He couldn’t even stand straight, but that didn’t stop him from running his damn mouth.

Jamal stepped between us, his posture rigid. “You have five seconds to tell me what happened. Five seconds, Blake.”

I didn’t know where to start.

So I said the only thing that mattered.

“He hurt her.”

Jamal’s gaze locked onto Nathan, his eyes narrowing as if searching for any sign of remorse, but there was none.

“Listen, he’s not worth it,” Jamal said, his voice softer now, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hands flexed at his sides betrayed everything he was holding back.

Nathan laughed, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’s a psycho ,” he snapped. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You were holding her down,” I seethed.

Nathan snorted, something ugly twisting across his face. “Well, she’s a fucking tease?—”

Jamal hit him before he could finish.

It happened so fast I barely saw it—just Jamal’s arm flying out, his fist slamming into Nathan’s face with a dull crack.

One clean punch that sent him crashing back to the floor.

Jamal shook out his fist, flexing his fingers. “Been waiting to do that,” he muttered under his breath. “You really thought you could say shit like that and get away with it, huh?” He took a step closer, staring down at Nathan. “Not while I’m standing here.”

Nathan groaned, pressing his hand against his cheek where Jamal’s fist had left a bruise. “You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re a pathetic piece of shit,” Jamal retorted coldly.

“You’re gonna regret this,” Nathan spat, pushing himself up. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

He staggered, breathing hard, fury written all over his face. His pupils were blown wide, either from rage or the alcohol pumping through his veins—probably a combination of both.

I exhaled sharply, my fists aching to land another punch.

Jamal grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the room. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get out of here before you end up in handcuffs.”

We made it halfway down the stairs before I heard Nathan behind me. I kept moving, jaw locked, knuckles still raw from the fight upstairs.

“You’re dead, McHayes!”

I whipped around just in time to see him charging down the stairs, shoving people out of the way.

Three of his friends had followed him down the stairs, all of them just as wasted, feeding off his anger.

“Keep moving,” Jamal warned, tugging on my arm.

People turned toward the staircase, eyes flicking between us, sensing the fight before it even started.

“Back off, Nathan,” Jamal said. “It’s over.”

Nathan’s gaze flicked to him. “This ain’t your business.”

“You made it my business when you put your hands on her,” Jamal shot back. He exhaled a slow breath. “Man, just let it go.”

Nathan chuckled—an ugly sound that barely sounded human. “Let it go? Oh, that’s rich. You think you can hit me and walk out like nothing happened?”

I heard footsteps rushing toward us, then Sydney’s voice. “Nathan, what?—?”

Nathan pointed at me, blood on his teeth when he sneered. “Your psycho boyfriend sucker-punched me.”

Tiffany stormed toward us, her heels clicking against the wood, her expression flicking between annoyance and concern. “Oh, hell no. What the hell is going on?”

“Stay out of it,” Jamal said, his tone harsh, but she ignored him.

My attention flicked toward Beverly. She was standing just behind Tiffany, arms wrapped around herself, her face unreadable.

I knew she was shaken.

She was doing her best to hide it, but I knew her too well.

I turned back to Nathan. “You’re drunk. Go home.”

Nathan scoffed. “Oh, now you want to talk? That’s funny. Didn’t seem like you wanted to talk when you were busy trying to kill me. Admit it,” he hissed. “You’ve always wanted to hit me.”

I didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

He wiped his nose. “You’re nothing,” he said, his voice low. “You think you’re better than me? Please. You’re just a foster kid that no one wanted. You’re lucky the Price’s kept you around. Probably felt sorry for you.”

I took a step forward, but Jamal’s hand shot out, pressing against my chest before I could touch him.

“Nope.” His voice was calm but firm. “Not worth it.”

Nathan smirked like he’d won. It took everything in me not to knock that smug look right off his face.

“Dude, just go home,” Jamal told him, exasperated.

“Damn, you again.” He spread his arms out dramatically. “What are you gonna do? Pray me away?”

Jamal stiffened beside me.

His expression darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nathan grinned like he was proud of himself. “You heard me.”

Tiffany stepped closer to Jamal’s side. Her eyes were sharp, locked onto Nathan like she was ready to throw hands herself.

Nathan laughed derisively. “What, you need your little princess to protect you? Bet you pray five times a day for that one.”

“Hey!” Beverly snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You wanna say that again?” Tiffany challenged.

Behind us, a voice sneered, “Why? What’s he gonna do?”

Some guy I didn’t recognize was standing right behind us, arms crossed, eyes full of something that pissed me off on instinct. “You’re lucky they even let you in this country,” he said to Jamal. “I know your type.” He tapped his temple. “I watch the news.”

My vision went white.

I didn’t hear the rest.

I hit him so hard I felt his nose crunch beneath my fist.

“Say it again,” I spat. “I dare you.”

“Blake!” Jamal’s voice rang out, but I wasn’t done.

The rage hadn’t drained out of me yet. It was still clawing up my throat, burning through my veins.

“You wanna say it again?” I roared. “Come on! Say it again!”

I barely heard the shouts. Barely felt the hands grabbing me, pulling me back. Barely heard Tiffany’s voice somewhere behind me, screaming, “ Oh, you think that’s funny? Laugh now, bitch! ” before she grabbed some girl’s hair and yanked hard enough to make her cry out.

Everything was heat and blood and noise.

More bodies. More shoving.

Hands grabbing me, trying to pull me back.

I turned just in time to see a fist swinging toward me.

Everything blurred.

Beverly’s voice was swallowed by the chaos around me.

Someone screamed.

Tiffany’s nails raked across the girl’s scalp as she yanked her down by the hair. “Apologize,” Tiffany demanded. “Say it, bitch. Say you’re sorry!”

The girl shrieked, trying to break free. “For what?” she cried.

“For being a racist piece of?—”

Someone pulled me back, just to slam me against the wall.

Jamal came out of nowhere, shoving the guy off me with enough force to send him stumbling back. “You good?” he asked, barely sparing me a glance before squaring up to the dude who had just slammed me against the wall.

Then Nathan’s voice cut through the chaos. “Must be nice,” he sneered. “Having everyone fight your battles. Guess that’s what happens when you’re some unwanted little kid nobody ever?—”

Beverly’s fist cracked against his jaw before he could finish. “That’s for Blake,” she hissed, wincing as she shook out her hand. “And for Jamal. Ow .”

“Oh, look,” Nathan’s bleeding friend muttered from the floor, “his girlfriend’s defending Jamal. Guess she’ll open her legs for anyone if they smile at her long enough.”

The night ended in the police station.