CHAPTER SIX
LINA
W hen I find Eden, she’s standing in the kitchen with Kara, Jack, and Owen.
Eden and I met Jack and Owen in our freshman year dorm. Eden and I were neighbors, and they lived across the hall from us. Jack is also Kara’s boyfriend, which is how we met her.
I don’t see much of Owen around anymore, but Jack makes occasional appearances at our apartment, given his relationship with Kara.
Honestly, the two of them being together makes little to no sense. Sure, they get along and seem like they have a good relationship, but their lifestyles are completely opposite of one another.
Kara is a party girl. She likes going to New York on the weekends, visiting different socialite hangout spots, but Jack is the kind of guy who checks his calendar and calls it a night at eleven o’clock.
He’s classic—soft-spoken and always polite, but with this unshakable steadiness to him that makes you feel like if the world fell apart, he’d still find a way to fold his laundry.
Where she’s chaos dressed in couture, he’s a pressed Oxford shirt.
Jack stands with a kind of quiet composure, his posture always straight like he’s been taught not to take up more space than he should.
He’s tall—six-two, probably—and broad-shouldered, with warm brown skin and deep-set eyes.
His hair is cut close, tight curls always clean around the edges, and he’s wearing slacks like he came from somewhere important, even though we all know he didn’t.
Owen, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He’s lanky and pale, with reddish-blonde hair. He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s still a sweetheart. The kind of guy who’d forget his own birthday but remember yours.
“Where were you?” Kara asks as I approach.
My body nearly revolts at the question. “You don’t even want to know.”
“We figured Grant would find you,” Eden says, almost teasing.
“I really need to figure out how to make it less easy for him,” I say as a joke. Although, they probably don’t think I’m kidding. “Where’s Meredith?” I ask, quickly changing the topic.
I can barely wrap my mind around how I’m feeling toward Grant, much less talk about it. It’s how I tend to operate.
Kara waves her hand in the general direction of the party while taking a sip out of her Solo Cup, as Eden says, “With Braxton.”
“Their whole situation is confusing. Are they getting back together?”
“I’m not sure. They’ve been like this ever since we came back for fall semester,” Eden explains.
“None of us are entirely sure what actually happened, but it’s easy to assume that they broke up when they shouldn’t have, and now every time they see each other, they fall right back into place, completely unable to resist the temptation. ”
“Braxton’s a good guy, but Meredith is a whole other level of stubborn.
Ever since they broke up, they’ve been in the same cycle of pretending to ignore each other, fighting, then having sex and pretending it doesn’t happen.
It’s exhausting to watch, honestly,” Kara adds before emphasizing, “They’re a mess. ”
“What do you blame it on?” I always enjoy hearing her psychological analyses. She’s good at it, being a neuroscience major.
“Human brains don’t fully develop until the age of twenty-five. We’re legally impulsive. They probably broke up without realizing how much it would affect them being apart.”
I take a sip of my drink, trying to figure out if I’m supposed to say something more.
I don’t know enough about their relationship to comment on the “mess” she’s in.
I wasn’t around for the majority of it, but the whole dynamic seems heavy.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
“Do you want another drink?” Eden asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance down at my half-empty cup. It’s probably not a good idea to have more alcohol, but the warmth spreading through me tells me I don’t mind.
“Sure,” I reply. “Why not?”
She grins, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint as she pours me another cup.
The night wears on, and between the easy flow of conversation and the constant topping off of drinks, I feel the effects creeping in.
I try to stay composed, but my thoughts blur together, my limbs feeling a little too loose, a little too light. The music thumps louder, vibrating through the walls, becoming too much to revel in.
“Alright, that’s enough for me,” I mutter to myself, setting my cup down a little too hard on the counter. I push my way through the crowd, stumbling a little in my kitten heels.
I need to get out of here. Right now.
“Lina? You okay?” Eden asks, starting to follow me out of the kitchen, but the guy she had been talking to grabs her arm, keeping her stationary.
Eden’s natural instinct is to make sure everyone’s alright, and him holding her back clearly bothers her.
Usually, before she finds a guy to hook up with for the night, she scans the room to make sure everyone’s okay.
Once, she even climbed in a hot tub at a party freshman year because Meredith had gotten so drunk that she fell in.
I stop to turn back and face her quickly. I’m not trying to make things feel different, or like I need a babysitter. “Yeah, I’m good. Just need some air.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Maybe it’s because my face gives the impression that I need to be alone right now. She also doesn’t follow when I turn toward the back door and rush out. I don’t even realize I’m dry heaving until I make it to the side of the yard.
Bracing my hands against the wooden fence, I try to steady the spinning in my head. My breath comes short, my chest is tight, my throat is raw from coughing. All I can think about is how stupid of an idea this was. How stupid I am. For coming. For drinking. For thinking I could handle any of this.
“Hey, are you alright?” I hear a hazy voice ask from behind me.
I turn to see a familiar head of platinum blond hair coming closer, the clicking of her heels punctuating the air between us.
Savannah.
She’s changed outfits since I saw her earlier, but she looks no less chic in her off-white cargo mini-skirt, pink ruffle tank top, and a matching Dior satchel bag.
Her hair practically glows under the night sky, and her red lip gloss pops against her porcelain skin like a beacon. She has that effortless kind of beauty that doesn’t get any less impressive. Stark. Unmistakable. The kind of girl who you can’t help but stare at every time you see her.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell her, dragging in a deep breath.
She doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t press further. Instead, her eyes flick over me one more time. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, okay?”
Another wave of dizziness comes over, making it difficult to do anything but nod as she retreats back into the house. There’s no way I’ll be going anywhere soon, regardless.
Footsteps come up behind me again a few minutes later, but they sound heavier this time, and when I turn, I’m met with the sight of a messy head of brown hair, connected to a cocky smile and broad shoulders.
As I scan his body, I take in his tall frame, unbothered and entirely too confident. His hoodie hangs loose over his torso, but it does nothing to hide the way he’s built, like he belongs on a field somewhere, mid-game.
He looks down at me with a half-amused, half-concerned expression. “Will you back off the fence?”
I don’t reply. I turn my face back toward the wood instead, waving him off.
“Come on.” His hand wraps fully around my bicep, attempting to pull me away from the edge of the yard.
“Will you leave me alone?” I ask, my voice filled with venom as I rip my arm out of his grasp. “I don’t need your help.”
“Hear that, Sav?” Grant turns back toward the girl who I was talking with a few minutes ago. “She doesn’t need my help.”
Savannah slaps him in the arm. “Don’t be an ass.”
There’s a small smirk on his face, although a small glimmer of concern pokes through. “You’re drunk, puking in my backyard, looking like you’re about to pass out. Not exactly the best look.” His backyard? He lives in our apartment complex.
A bitter laugh rises in my throat. “No need to take up the gentleman act now.”
“Jesus.” He runs a hand down his face. “You’re really a pain in the ass, you know that?”
Savannah scowls at him. “Grant?—”
“Then leave me here,” I tell him with the same biting tone.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, I feel one of his arms come around my back, while the other lifts under my thighs. He lifts me gently, too gently for someone who acts like I’m such an inconvenience, yet he can’t help himself and his apparent savior complex.
“Come on,” he says, voice low.
Grant Vandenberg is carrying me through the backyard, and for a split second, I’m okay with it. It feels like a paradox I can’t disprove or an equation where I can’t isolate the variable. It defies every logical part of me.
And I should know better. I should know better than to trust something that doesn’t add up on paper. But I’m also drunk, so maybe in some logical sense, my intoxication is to blame.
I push at his chest. “I said I’m fine.”
His grip only tightens on me. His tattooed hands firmly grasp my thighs, making it obvious that he’s not letting me go.
“You’re not fine.” His jaw ticks. “I just watched you almost eat shit walking down the steps of the deck before Savannah came over here. I might be an asshole, but I’m not the type to let a girl get taken advantage of because she can’t control her liquor intake.”
“I saw at least three girls doing lines of coke on the front porch. Why don’t you go take care of them?”
His body tenses. “I don’t mess with drugs or the people who do them.”
The shift in tone is out of character for what I know about him. All signs are pointing toward there being something deeper there; I’m just not sure what. I won’t figure it out solely based on emotion cues, either.
“You do know steroids are drugs, right?”
“Why would I need those if I’m riding the bench?” he quickly retorts.
“Do you want me to come with you, or can you get her back safe?” Savannah asks from behind us, her two friends now with us.
Grant shakes his head. “I can handle her.”
“You wish,” I say with a pointed glare.
He sounds just as entertained. “Is that a challenge?”
I scoff, refusing to respond. In fact, part of me has forgotten that I’m still in his arms as he carries me through the yard and back into the house. “Where are you taking me?”
“Back to your apartment.”
“I need to find my friends,” I tell him, trying to push out of his hold again.
“Meredith’s with Braxton, Eden’s hooking up with some guy in the guest bedroom, and Kara is dancing with Jack. They’re all accounted for and not going to be leaving anytime soon.” When he sees my face fall, he sighs and relents, “I’ll text Braxton and have him let them know.”
Then, he continues carrying me through the house. Grant pushes the door open and sets my feet down on the porch before leading me out into the cool night air.
“I’m taking you back to your apartment,” he repeats, like I’m too drunk to understand what’s happening. “I’m the only one who hasn’t been drinking, so I’m your only option.”
“Do you have a savior complex or something?” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “I didn’t ask you to do this.”
He glances down at me, his jaw tight, but his face unreadable. “Yeah, well, someone has to, and clearly your pickings are pretty slim.”
My chest tightens. I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it, like all his other comments, but it still hits where it hurts.
I’ve made the wrong choice before, and once was enough. Once was enough to ruin the idea that trusting someone to do something for me wouldn’t cost me in the long run.
I want to argue. I want to throw every bit of frustration I’ve been carrying at him.
But I’m too exhausted, knowing I should feel too humiliated by the situation to put up a fight anymore.
So, I stay quiet as he walks me to his car—some type of Aston Martin—the tension thick between us as he drives me back to our apartment building.