Chapter 8
Iglance between Phoenix and the mansion we’re stalled in front of. “This isn’t Malone’s.”
“Pit stop,” Cruz, Phoenix’s older brother, says from his spot in the front seat. He glances back at me. “Know who’s a better customer than rich kids?”
“Drunk rich kids?”
Cruz grins. “Exactly. Sure you don’t want in, man? You’ve got great business sense.”
I rub a hand along my jaw, studying the exterior of the huge house. “I’m sure.”
As tempting as easy cash sounds, I’ve heard too much. Cruz isn’t small-time, selling weed he grew in his basement. He’s part of a huge operation based out of Boston. Dangerous shit that has huge payoffs—if the brand-new car we’re in is any indication—and lots of risk. Something I should stay far away from.
Phoenix and Cruz live a few trailers down with a rotating door of family members. Our paths didn’t cross much when I lived here last, but Phoenix is working at the garage with me. When he suggested we grab a burger tonight, I thought that meant we were actually going to get a burger. Instead, we ended up at the football field, another “pit stop” that lasted twenty minutes.
Cruz shrugs, then turns back around. “Suit yourself.”
Zane, who’s driving, blocks a BMW in. Then, all the doors, except mine, are opening.
I look at Phoenix, who’s halfway out of the car. “Thought this was a pit stop?”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get burgers in a bit.”
This was all planned, I realize. Part of a familiar pattern.
“You seriously party with them?” I ask.
Phoenix spent most of our shift earlier complaining about how snobby and stuck-up most people in this town are.
He shrugs. “They want what Cruz is selling. And the girls might be bitchy at school, but here?” He smirks. “They’re up for anything. Seriously.”
“Not interested.”
This is the big postgame party. I’m sure Elle is here, and I really don’t need a front-row seat to Hathaway slobbering all over her.
“If you say so.”
Everyone else is out of the car. I exhale, bang my skull against the headrest twice, and then climb out as well. I leave my Rays cap on the seat even though I wouldn’t mind the camouflage of a brim. The car alarm chirps obnoxiously as the rest of the guys head inside.
The front walk is lined with trimmed hedges. Tall columns flank the front porch. Everything about this place suggests its owners are loaded.
Inside is an atmosphere I’m more familiar with. In Jacksonville, we’d mostly party on the beach around bonfires and by lifeguard huts. But aside from the lack of smoke and salt air, being surrounded by drunk teenagers is nothing new to me.
The crew I came with has already disappeared. I scan the living room, avoiding eye contact with any of the girls checking me out. Phoenix was right, I guess. Although it’s the same scrutiny I get at school, just more blatant.
“What are you doing here?”
I spin to face Tuck, raising an eyebrow. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
He half smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hang out in this scene sometimes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A few of the guys are cool.”
I snort. “If you say so. Is Reese here too?”
Tuck scoffs. “Of course not. Figured you two were hanging out tonight.”
“I told you, it’s not like that.”
“It’s like that for her, man.”
Tucker is convinced Reese has a thing for me, but I don’t see it. We were tight freshman year, and she’s the one person I kept in touch with from here, aside from Tuck. But she’s never acted any differently around me than she does him, as far as I’ve noticed.
I go to run my fingers through my hair and end up basically just rubbing my scalp instead. I’m not used to the shorter length yet.
“I thought Phoenix and I were grabbing burgers. He forgot to mention a couple of stops.”
“You’re here with those guys?” Tucker frowns.
“I’m not selling. Just along for the ride.”
“That doesn’t?—”
“Tucker! Here you are!”
Two girls are approaching. I lift an eyebrow at Tuck, and he smirks back. Cool guys, my ass. He’s here for the chicks.
There are only about a dozen Twos at Fernwood High. The hookup pool is pretty small, so it’s not entirely surprising that lines have blurred the past couple of years. And I’m hardly one to judge. I stepped right over the line freshman year.
We end up in the crowded kitchen. Still no sign of the group I came with. I’m sure Phoenix is off with some girl, and Zane and Cruz must be busy conducting “business.” Archer Hathaway is leaning against the kitchen island, talking to a couple of guys, but there’s no sign of Elle. I relax a little.
“You drinking?” Tuck asks me.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Watson! Beer me!” Hathaway hops up onto the counter, sending several red plastic cups skittering to the floor.
I don’t know whose house this is, but I’m guessing they have a cleaning service. Some maid is going to be on her hands and knees tomorrow, scrubbing at the sticky residue that just spilled.
A blond guy tosses a can of beer at Archer.
Hathaway’s still a shitty quarterback. I figured, based on Medina’s request. I didn’t pay any attention to the game earlier, but the somber faces in the parking lot told me Fernwood lost.
He misses the catch by a lot, and I doubt it has much to do with how much he’s had to drink. Pure reflex has me reaching out to snag the can before it can hit the floor and make even more of a mess.
Archer’s lip curls as he turns to me and holds a hand out for the can. “Buy your own beer.” He tilts his head. “Oh, wait. Can you not afford to?”
I toss the can in the air and catch it one-handed. Whenever it gets opened, it’ll probably explode. “Might want to slow down, man.” I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, wait. You can’t catch sober either.”
There are a few muffled laughs around the kitchen. Watson, who threw the beer, lifts a cup to cover his grin.
Archer is popular, but not the way Elle is. Not because people actually like him. He’s popular because he’s supposed to be. Because he’s got the rich family and the right zip code, and that translates to certain privileges.
His eyes narrow. “Who invited you, Two?”
“It’s a party, Archer. Lighten up.” A girl I don’t recognize steps forward, rolling her eyes. She’s pretty. Long light-brown hair. Perky tits that Archer blatantly checks out. Pig.
I’m looking, too, but only one of us has a girlfriend.
“Let me show you around, Ryder.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the doorway. I let her, mostly out of surprise, glancing back at Tuck.
He grins at me, lifting his beer, then mouths, Go for it.
I’m not really in the mood for this shit, but I suppose it’s a smarter plan than getting into it with Hathaway.
Rather than enter the crowded living room like I’m expecting, the girl steers us into a bookshelf-lined office. It reminds me of a library, all dark, old-looking wood and brass fixtures.
She closes the door behind us, muffling the blaring music. Drops my hand and then sashays over toward the fireplace, picking up a crystal glass and nearly filling it with amber liquid. “Want some? Way better than warm beer.”
“No thanks.”
“That’s refreshing.” She smirks, then sips, appraising me carefully over the rim of the glass. “Do you know how to build a fire?”
“It’s August.”
“Just for ambiance. The AC is on.”
I shake my head and make for one of the leather armchairs, still not sure if being in here is a good idea or not. I won’t be able to talk Phoenix into leaving before Cruz is ready, but I could probably convince Tuck to drive me home soon.
“Everyone’s wondering if you’re going to join the team. That’s why Archer was so peeved.”
Hathaway hated me long before he found out I had a decent arm, so I don’t think that’s the real—or only—reason.
But I just shrug. “I’m not playing.”
“Why not? I hear you’re good. And it would be nice to cheer for the winning team for once. Even Elle gets sick of being supportive, and she’s practically a saint.”
At that, I snort. Elle’s a good person, one of the best I’ve ever met. But she’s no saint.
The girl—I should’ve asked for her name, probably—raises both eyebrows. “You don’t like Elle?”
She’s masking her interest pretty well, but I can sense it bubbling beneath the surface. Elle is the last topic I feel like discussing.
“I don’t know her.” It’s not a lie exactly, but it tastes a lot like one. “But I don’t like any Ones really. No offense.”
She sips more straight alcohol. “I don’t buy into that whole we’re better than them because we have more money thing, you know.”
“How progressive of you.”
She giggles. “I mean it. Archer doesn’t let you guys come to his parties, but me? Everyone is welcome.”
I glance around the room again. “This is your place?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s nice.”
She smiles, then walks toward me. “Thanks.”
I tip my head back to hold eye contact as she approaches. “What’s your name?”
She rolls her eyes, silently agreeing I should have asked a while ago. Or maybe annoyed I didn’t already know.
“I’m Maddie. We had English together, freshman year. You sulked in the back the whole time.”
I remember sitting in the back of the classroom. I don’t remember Maddie, which must be obvious on my face.
“Ouch,” she says, shaking her head. One knee lands next to my left thigh, then the other by my right so she’s straddling me. “Well, you’ll remember me after tonight, right?”
Her hips are rocking against mine, her boobs right in my face. And rather than enjoy the experience, I’m busy cataloging all the ways her face is different from Elle’s.
It’s not Maddie’s fault her hair isn’t darker, and her eyes aren’t blue, and her smile doesn’t make me feel like all the air in the world has disappeared.
She wasn’t supposed to still matter.I don’t want her to still matter, but my brain—not to mention my dick—doesn’t seem to care.
My feelings for Fernwood’s golden girl were supposed to dissipate as soon as I left. Not linger like a hollow echo for the twenty-six months I was gone and then flare back to life with shocking strength after seeing her again. Every glimpse I got of her at school this week is burned into my memory like a brand. I spent the whole drive here obsessing over what her texting me earlier meant.
“I gotta go,” I say.
Maddie frowns, then stills. “What?”
“I gotta go,” I repeat.
Maddie straightens and climbs off. “Seriously?”
I’m being a dick, I know. But I’m not going to fuck her. Not tonight. Not ever. I could make up some bullshit excuse to soften the blow, but that’s never been my style.
As soon as she’s off my lap, I stand. Sitting was obviously a mistake.
“I can’t stay. I’ve got somewhere to be. I will remember you though, Maddie. Promise.”
I hustle out of the room before she can say anything else.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I walk down the hallway. I pull it out, hoping it’ll be Phoenix, ready to head out. It’s not. It’s an unknown local number.
I answer. “Hello?”
No response. Although it’s almost impossible to hear as I walk closer to the living room, which is where the music is blaring from. I swerve left and head upstairs, ignoring the glances from a couple of girls stumbling down them.
The hallway is empty, most of the doors shut. I rub the back of my neck and exhale, then try to call the number back. It rings with no answer.
Halfway down the hallway, there’s a landing for a second set of stairs. Maddie’s home is huge. I’ve driven past the houses in this exclusive part of town, but never been inside one before. There’s a reading nook with more bookcases across from the landing, then doors that lead outside. I open one and step out onto the balcony that overlooks the backyard, tugging the box of cigarettes out of my pocket. I exhale as soon as the cool, fresh air hits my face, relaxing for the first time since we arrived.
“Thought you quit.”
I glance over one shoulder, my heart doing a silly skip when I confirm it’s really her. Elle’s leaning against the side of the roof, her expression inscrutable as she stares at me.
My eyes fall to the red cup she’s holding. “Thought you didn’t drink.”
“Water’s a precious resource. I’m doing my part to help save the planet.”
I snort as I fish a lighter out of my pocket and ignite the end of the cigarette. “What are you doing here?”
“Maddie and I have been friends since first grade. What are you doing here?”
“I meant, hiding on a balcony. Your adoring subjects must be missing you.”
She straightens, walking over toward me. I tense, tracking the shrinking distance between us.
My resentment toward Phoenix grows with each of her steps. This night has gone totally off the rails. I didn’t want to talk to Elle like this, us alone. Nothing good can come from closer proximity. I’m having a hard enough time getting her out of my head already.
“Only the ones who weren’t busy welcoming you back to town in the study.”
I raise both eyebrows as Elle rests an elbow on the railing and glances down.
“Do you think I could make it into the pool from here?” she asks.
I follow her gaze. It’s thirty feet, maybe more. “You still like to consider dumb shit, huh?”
“I do more than consider, Ry.”
She’s not touching me. She’s not even looking at me. Yet I’m flooded with everything I should have felt when Maddie was grinding on my lap, instantly hard the second she calls me Ry.
“I’m dumb shit?” I ask.
Elle says nothing. She just stares down with a calculating expression, like she’s actually considering jumping. The thought terrifies me. Elle in danger affects me like nothing else. I know she’s smart and strong and capable of taking care of herself. Somehow, that scares me even more. Because I know she doesn’t damage easily.
Ihurt her. She let me in, let me hurt her, and I hate myself for that.
“I know the timing sucked. I am sorry.”
“Did you hook up with Maddie?”
She’s still looking down, not at me, so I can’t read her face. Can’t tell if she cares about the answer.
“How did you even?—”
Elle tugs her phone out of her back pocket and hands it to me. I try to keep my eyes off her ass, but I do a shitty job of it. The screen is covered with dozens of message notifications. Some names I recognize. Others I don’t. A play-by-play of everything happening downstairs.
A new text from Maddie pops up as I’m staring at Elle’s phone, but I’m more focused on something else. “Nice background.”
She takes the phone back from me without looking this way. But the small section of her cheek I can see in the dim light appears pinker. “I’ll hear about it whether you tell me or not. I’m just?—”
“Nothing happened.”
“Right. Rich girls aren’t your type.”
Her grip on the cup is loose enough for me to lift it out of her hand. I sip, making a face at the sour burn.
“Jesus. Want any cranberry juice with your vodka?”
“I like it.”
“Sure. I’d need to get that drunk to date Hathaway too.”
Elle reaches out to grab her cup back. She fists it from the bottom, making sure our fingers don’t brush. “You’ve been gossiping about me, huh?”
“Got stuck listening to gossip about you, yeah. What are you doing with that dick, Elle?”
Instead of answering, she asks, “Why did you come back, Ryder?”
“Wasn’t my call.”
She takes a drink, and I experience a stupid thrill knowing we’re swapping spit.
“Was leaving?”
My jaw works a couple of times. I should lie. Instead, I admit, “No.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket again. I pull it out to see another unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Ryder?”
I recognize my little brother’s voice. “Cormac?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Can you come pick me up?”
I close my eyes. “Pick you up from where?”
He’s supposed to be home. Asleep.
A pause.
Then, “The playground.”
“What the fu—hell are you doing there? It’s after eleven.”
“Don’t get mad, okay? Owen wanted to bike around, but I got a flat.”
I exhale. “Whose phone are you using?”
“Some kids were already hanging around here. Mav and them. He said he’ll stay until you get here. And he’ll take my bike in his truck.”
“Damnit, Cormac. I don’t … I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“ ’Kay. Thanks.”
I hang up and blow out another long breath. I thought my mom was exaggerating about Cormac’s behavior. Bailing him out isn’t much of a lesson, but I can’t just leave him there overnight to sleep in the mulch. I’m sure he left a lot out of his story. No way he just ended up there.
“Everything okay?” Elle asks quietly.
“I think so. Just Cormac making stupid choices.” I snuff out the cigarette, then glance at her. “You can say it.”
“I didn’t know you in middle school. Maybe you were a perfect angel.”
I huff a laugh. “Right. I gotta go find a ride so I can pick him up.”
“You can take my car.” She reaches into her pocket again and tosses me a set of keys. “It’s the red convertible.”
“Perfect for New England winters.”
Elle rolls her eyes. “It’s not snowing right now. You’ll be fine, Florida boy.”
“You’ve been gossiping about me, huh?”
“Got stuck listening to gossip about you, yeah.” She parrots my line right back.
“I was in Jacksonville. With my dad. He taught me how to surf.”
Her gaze roves over my face like she’s trying to find more than I just shared, which was already a lot more than I’d intended to tell her. “You miss it?”
“No.”
She nods. “Right. You don’t get attached.”
“I get attached.” I hold her keys out to her. “I can’t take your car.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not leaving you stranded at a party with no car. Not that you should be driving anyway … but still. You should have it. Where’s your friend? Julia?”
“Juliet is in the pool house with Alec Hamilton.” Elle sips more of her lightly flavored vodka. “I’m fine. I can crash here if I have to, or I’ll get a ride with someone. My house isn’t far. I could walk.”
“He’s wasted, you know.”
Elle’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t mention Archer.”
“I appreciate the offer. But I’ll figure it out.”
I hold the keys out, but Elle doesn’t take them. I sigh, then step closer and slip them back into her shorts. We’re closer now, way too close, her familiar scent—jasmine and lemon—washing over me. My dick twitches as her head tilts back and her teeth sink into her full bottom lip.
“You used to kiss me before touching my ass,” she says.
I pluck the cup out of her hand and toss it over the balcony railing. “Switch to water, Clarke.”
“I have enough people telling me what to do. I don’t need it from you too.”
“You make your own choices, Elle.”
Her eyes narrow. “Fine.”
Then, her hand is wrapped around mine, and I’m getting pulled along by a girl half my weight for the second time tonight. Elle tugs me down the hallway to the left, lifting a ceramic figurine off a table, grabbing a key, unlocking a door, and then returning the key to its hiding spot.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss as we walk into a pink bedroom.
“Well, you won’t leave me here without a car, so I’m coming with the car. You can pick up your brother and then bring me back here like the gentleman we both know you’re not.”
“Doesn’t explain why we’re in Maddie’s bedroom.”
Framed photos cover one wall, Maddie front and center in most of them. I wonder if Elle’s bedroom has a similar display.
“I don’t feel like dealing with downstairs.”
I snort. “So, you’re jumping out a window?”
“No. I’m climbing down the trellis. I’ve done it before.” She opens the window, then sticks her head out.
For fuck’s sake, this is insane. But I don’t really want to pick up Cormac with Phoenix, Cruz, and Zane in tow. Cormac’s making enough bad decisions without their influence. And Tuck has done plenty for me. I don’t want to ruin his night.
I sigh, then stride over to the window. “Wait. Let me go first.”
“If I fall, are you going to catch me?”
“I’ll at least consider it.”
Elle rolls her eyes, but steps to the side so I can climb out of the window first.
It’s an easy climb, one I manage in less than a minute. Elle does it quickly as well, requiring no assistance from me. I’m more disappointed about that than I should be.
“I’m down the street,” she says once we’re on solid ground. “It’s best to avoid the gridlock.”
“Smart,” I compliment. I can’t even spot Zane’s car in the mess of vehicles at odd angles.
“I have my moments.”
We weave through haphazardly parked cars until we reach the sidewalk. It’s perfectly paved, not a crack in sight.
Every house we pass is as big and expensive-looking as Maddie’s.
“Your place like these?” I ask, staring at one of them.
It’s the only distraction I have from Elle walking right next to me. We’re alone out here, the sounds from the party fading more with each step.
“There’s no pool.”
One corner of my mouth turns up. The side opposite Elle, so she can’t see.
Most people are predictable. She always surprises me.
“Aside from the pool?”
“Yeah. It’s big. Too big. My mom doesn’t know what to do with Rose’s room because there’s already so much extra space.”
“Put a pool in there.”
When I glance over, she’s smiling. My chest squeezes.
“Yeah. I’ll suggest it.”
“They’ll have another empty room next year.”
Unlike me, Elle’s headed to college. One of the best schools in the country, I’m sure. That difference in our futures didn’t seem as relevant freshman year. Adulthood looked far away. Now, it seems glaring. Imminent.
“I’m planning on coming back though.”
“Yeah?”
From what she’s told me, Elle’s relationship with her parents has always been strained. And it got worse when her older sister died five years ago. They expect perfection from Elle, like it’s her responsibility to make up for their loss. If I were her, I’d leave this town and never look back.
“Yeah,” she replies. “There are a few things I like about Fernwood.”
“Like what?” I ask, genuinely curious.
We reach her car, the color and model standing out among the other cars parked on the street.
Rather than unlock it, Elle climbs over the side of the convertible and stays standing in the passenger seat. Her alarm is useless because it doesn’t go off.
“Like driving a convertible in the snow,” she tells me, leaning against the top of the windshield. She fishes her car keys out of her pocket and spins them around on one finger. “You?”
“Me what?”
“Is there anything you like about this town?” Elle holds my gaze, appearing far less drunk than I thought she was. Her head tilts in the same direction as the rest of her body, studying me closely as she waits for a response.
I didn’t see this choice coming. I was enjoying talking to her without looking ahead at the approaching split.
This answer will matter. The longer I hesitate, the more it’ll mean. I apologized twice, and that was supposed to be it. Closure.
I swallow. “Yeah.”
If the answer didn’t include her, I would have said it aloud. I’m pretty sure Elle knows that, based on how she breaks eye contact so I can’t read her expression.
She tosses her keys at me, sitting once I catch them.
We’ve never left a party together before. Never been in a car together before. Tonight is the most we’ve talked in over two years.
This should be awkward.
But it’s not.