CHAPTER 2 Charlie
CHAPTER 2
Charlie
I s someone watching us?
The hair stands up on the back of my neck and all along my arms, an uneasy sensation washing over me. I look over my shoulder, but I can’t see anything. The light from the bonfire makes the darkness surrounding us feel even more impenetrable than it really is. With all my friends laughing and snuggling and mesmerized by the flames, who knows what evil’s lurking out there ready to pounce?
Whatever, Charlie, it’s just the offshore breeze. You’re making shit up.
I bury my bare feet deeper into the cold sand—I want my sneakers to stay nice, so I took them off as soon as I set foot on the beach—feed the fire another piece of driftwood, and watch it burn.
There’s no bogeyman waiting to get us. Why would there be? It’s the happiest time of the year.
I guess.
“As you all know, we’re gathered here today to protest the capitalistic economy,” Jules says in his melodic British accent.
He’s a pop star who’s dating Sam, one of my colleagues and friends, and we’re outside their home north of Malibu. Home, beachfront mansion, whatever. The irony of this as a location for our anticapitalism protest isn’t lost on me.
Or maybe it’s the perfect location.
Normal people call today Black Friday. Jules is calling it Blackest Friday and wants us to go through some kind of group bonding rite where, instead of shopping and supporting the economy, we all burn mementos of past trauma, accompanied by a screaming death metal soundtrack. I could not be less into this if I tried, but better to be here than at home while all my friends have fun without me.
Sam’s sprawled on a blanket in the vee of Jules’s long legs, back plastered to Jules’s front. I grind my teeth. At least Sam’s comfy. I’m definitely not.
I shiver. Again, I glance behind me. Nothing’s out there. I’ve seen too many movies.
The flames dance higher, and my face roasts while my back freezes. I don’t have a cozy, solid person to block the cold gusts from the ocean that slither down my neck. Tristan wouldn’t have come if I’d invited him, not even as a friend. He’s, well, not happy in the closet … it’s just where he stays.
How do I feel about that? It’s fine. Kinda.
I zip up my jacket, wrap my arms around my stomach, and huddle closer to the fire.
The chatter continues over the blaring metal music. Out of the twenty or thirty of us, no one except Sam and me seems to hear Jules’s attempt to get our attention. In addition to the music, the constant, unseen waves hitting the shore sound louder in the dark. There are forces that we can’t—and never will be able to—control.
Damn, I’m being poetic. I’ve only had two drinks, so I’m not sure where all this mood is coming from. Oh, that’s right. It’s because I’m perpetually bitter and feeling pretty useless.
I attempt to loosen my clenched jaw, but I’m not successful. I could try to pretend all the disgustingly sweet couples don’t make me sick to my stomach, but why bother? I don’t need to deny how their out-and-proud bliss is affecting me. I grimace at my self-pity and sullenly glance around at my contented friends, coworkers, and family members, many of whom are being openly affectionate.
My best friend, Danny, and his partner, Alden, sit across from me, their hands all over each other—somewhat discreetly, at least. Danny turned in his man-whore card for Alden, leaving me to fend for myself at the bars without my wingman. Don’t get me wrong, I pull just fine, and I still see Danny at work. But I do miss spending both quantity and quality time with my best friend.
Noah and August, the founding partners of Weston Tristan and I aren’t in a relationship, period), bad family issues (I don’t have those, either), bad choices (I also don’t have those). (Except one.)
“Charlie! Bro! It’s your turn,” Danny calls.
I stand up, move so close to the fire I feel its flames lick the stubble on my cheeks, and pull a folded-up piece of paper from the inside pocket of my jacket. “This is the ruling on the last motion for summary judgment I lost,” I begin.
Danny throws a marshmallow at me. “Boo!”
“Hey, I was bummed about losing,” I protest, even though it sounds hollow. I just want to make videos and not practice law at all. But I can’t tell my entire firm that.
“Fair enough,” Danny says.
“And … it sucked. The end.” My comments are met with a few laughs and whistles. I crumple the paper up and throw it in. The flames grab it instantly, and it turns to ash. Danny and Cam both give me looks, like they’re aware there’s something I’m not saying. But they know me well enough not to press in front of a group.
We keep going around the circle. I learn a few things about my friends that make me feel like I know them better. When we’re done and it’s a socially acceptable time for me to leave, I put my socks and shoes back on, give my brother and my friends bro hugs and my sister a kiss on the forehead, and wave goodbye to everyone else .
“See you tomorrow, Charlie!” Shelby calls, wrapped around Cam like a blanket burrito.
“Yeah, see you.” We’re all going skiing tomorrow. I nod toward my brother’s hurt ankle, the reason why he and Shelby got married in the first place. “You gonna be okay?”
He winces. “Yeah. I’ll take it easy, but I’m cleared.”
A pained look passes over Shelby’s face. Not sure what that’s about, but given what he said about his past trauma he was burning, I suspect he’s got some shit to work through. Cam’s a good listener. I’m sure he’ll help.
“Where are you parked?” Cam asks.
“Up the road a bit.” I gesture north. I’m on the side of PCH away from the party. Jules and Sam have a gated compound with some parking, but space isn’t infinite. Well, technically, it is, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
Cam peers over my shoulder, but with our eyes used to looking at the bright bonfire, it’s hard to adjust to the dark, and I’m not sure he sees anything. “Want us to walk you to your car?”
“Nah,” I scoff. “It’s fine. You can quit being the overprotective older brother.”
“Like that’s gonna happen,” Cam says. But he and Shelby wave at me and start walking south toward Sam and Jules’s house. Other people stay behind, enjoying the fire.
My hands shoved in my pockets and my shoulders hunched, I head toward my car, watching my step in the sand, which is full of driftwood and other debris. The moon provides just enough light that I can avoid stumbling.
I should text Tristan, although I’m not sure what I want to say. There are the hookups who you want to introduce to your family, and there are the hookups you don’t want your friends to know about. Tristan’s neither of those.
But, as I keep reminding myself, he’s perfect. If I were to describe my ideal man, it’s him, at least physically. Plus he’s elegant and sophisticated and easy to be with .
When I get to the car, I’ll text him … something. Like whether there’s any chance of us doing something outside of his house that’s still sort of private. Possibly a hike? Less chance of him being seen by someone he knows out on the trail, and het guys go hiking together, I’m sure. Maybe he’d go for that.
Away from the fire, the wind off the water is freezing. A lone sports car speeds down the highway blaring hip-hop, though the sound of the surf overshadows everything. I go to open my car door.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone lunging at me from behind my car. He tackles me to the ground.
What the fuck?
I land with my hands under my chest to brace my fall, but my chin still scrapes the asphalt. My breath’s knocked out of me.
Oh my god.
Shit.
Dammit .
The cool, biting edge of a … knife? Yes, fuck , a knife , a fucking knife, presses into my throat.