Chapter 3 River
Three
River
The new guy sauntered away, releasing me from his piercing gaze.
Good.
I wasn’t supposed to be noticing things like the intensity of his eyes or how they were the purest green. Clear and hard, like peridot.
I wasn’t supposed to notice that under all that expensive clothing, his body was built. Not as big as me but lean muscle on a tall frame.
I wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to how fucking perfect this guy’s face was, angular and sharp, as if he were sculpted out of ice. Icy hair, icy attitude but with a fire burning underneath…
“He’s dressed like it’s winter,” muttered Frankie Dowd, the skater punk who tagged along with my crowd, mostly because we’d all gone to school together since kindergarten. “What a fucking weirdo.”
Inexplicably, my hackles went up; I had to clench my jaw to keep from snapping at him to shut his damn mouth.
“Do you ever stop being a jackass, Frankie?” Violet demanded.
Against my will, my gaze lingered where Holden had gone, the scents of clove cigarettes and expensive cologne trailing after him. I inhaled deep, catching a few remnants. They went straight through me like an illicit drug, making my skin shiver.
What the hell?
Frankie said something dickish to Violet, and I whirled on him. “Get lost, asshole.”
“Touchy, touchy, Whitmore. Later, my dudes,” he said and slunk away.
“You’re coming to the party, right, Vi?” I asked.
Violet looked lost in her own thoughts for a moment before shaking her head. “Uh yes, I’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll see you then,” I said and turned away without another word.
Because I’m the coward…
I could see it unfold so clearly. At the party, I’d ask her to homecoming.
We’d date, and I’d make it through the year without having to confront any feelings I didn’t feel like confronting.
Violet was an overachiever like me. We wouldn’t have time to get serious.
I wouldn’t break her heart. She couldn’t touch mine. It was perfect.
Bitterness flooded my mouth.
“Hey, man. Wait up,” Chance called. The beefy center lumbered after me. “You’re going to come over early on Saturday for party prep, right?”
“I told you I would, didn’t I?”
“Good, since Evelyn’s invited half the school. Including weird rich fuckers who smoke on campus, apparently.”
My teeth clenched. I felt Chance watching me as we strode across the quad, his wide face scrunched up in confusion.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said tightly. “Just…worried about my mom.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“It’s all good. I gotta go. I’ll be late to calc.”
He chuckled. “Dude, I don’t get it. It’s our senior year. You don’t even need math.”
“I like it. And I’ll need a shit ton of math to balance the books on the auto body business.”
“Maybe in, like, twenty years. Once you’ve racked up a Super Bowl or two, you can pay someone to do all that shit for you.”
I glanced at Chance, a guy I’d known since we were kids, friends since grade school, teammates on peewee football and beyond.
His position as center was to pass me the ball so that I could be the hero while he took the brutal hits from any D line that wanted to rip my head off.
A thankless job he performed with ferocity, berating himself hard when someone got past him.
Because he was my friend. My best friend, when it came down to it.
I wondered how he’d feel if I told him I wanted engine grease on my hands instead of Super Bowl rings. Or that I was still thinking about that “weird rich fucker” who might show up to his party.
“Gotta go,” I said and turned away.
“See you at practice?” Chance called after.
I sighed. “I’ll be there.”
***
After practice on Saturday, I spent the afternoon helping Chance set up for the party. Mr. and Mrs. Blaylock were out of town, visiting Chance’s older brother at Auburn.
“I don’t know why they don’t lock you in a cage every time they leave the house,” I said as Chance raided his dad’s liquor cabinet, on top of the keg we’d bought with his older cousin’s help. “You’d think they’d have learned their lesson after the last rager.”
Chance grinned and carried three bottles of liquor from the living room to the spacious kitchen. “Because they know that the kings of the school—especially seniors—are going to live it up. So long as I don’t do major damage to the house or furniture, they’re cool.”
He emptied a bottle of vodka into his mother’s Waterford crystal punch bowl.
“My dad would lose his shit,” I said, unwrapping a stack of red Solo cups from the plastic.
Not that I could have a party at my place now, even if I wanted to. I didn’t want to be at this party. It all seemed so pointless. Get wasted to terrible music and talk about unimportant crap as if it were life and death. Real life-and-death stuff was happening in my own home.
I dipped a Solo cup into the bowl of Chance’s infamous party punch: one part cherry Kool-Aid, one part Mountain Dew, one can of Red Bull, and a zillion parts cheap-ass vodka.
“Jesus Christ…” I croaked as the sip burned a path down my throat.
“Red Bull is the secret ingredient,” Chance said, grinning proudly. “Gives it that extra kick.”
“It tastes like carbonated ass.”
“Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.”
We laughed at the quote from Anchorman, Chance’s all-time favorite movie, and I felt a little lighter. Or maybe that was the booze. I switched to beer as we finished the setup and students began trickling in.
But as with all parties, I blinked and suddenly the huge house was packed with bodies that shouted, laughed, or danced to the thrumming, bass-pounding music from Mr. Blaylock’s state-of- the-art sound system.
Donte, Isaiah, and the rest of the team arrived, and I stood in the center of my group as conversations were shouted at me from all directions.
I added a comment here and there but found my eyes scanning the faces of people who flowed in and out of the kitchen to fill up their cups from the keg or the punch bowl.
Donte nudged my arm. “You looking for someone special?”
I blinked. “What?”
“You look like you’re on a date and afraid of being stood up.”
“Oh, nah,” I said quickly. “Violet, I guess. She’s supposed to be here with Evelyn.”
“Oh yeah? You going to ask her to homecoming? Make it official?”
I shrugged, took a sip of beer. “We’ll see.”
Donte laughed. “Always Mr. Cool. Well, look no further, ’cause here’s your girl now.”
My girl, I thought. It sounded strange even in my head. Like a foreign language.
Violet came in with Evelyn, wearing a skintight dress that highlighted her every curve. Her hair fell around her shoulders in silky black waves, and her deep blue eyes scanned the crowded kitchen nervously.
She was beautiful. Stunning, even. And was going to make a great patient care volunteer; Mom said her first visit with Violet the day before went well and that she was a smart, sweet girl with a heart of gold.
Only a fool wouldn’t try to earn Violet’s love and respect. Yet my gaze kept wandering. Searching…
“Hey, boys,” Evelyn announced to my group in the kitchen. “This is Violet’s first house party.” She looked to me pointedly. “Be gentle.”
I knew my cue when I heard it and moved through the crowd to Violet, wearing my trademark give-no-fucks smile.
“Hey.”
Violet smiled shyly. “Hi.”
“So…this really your first party?”
She laughed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Nah, you’re doing all right.”
“Any pointers?”
“Yeah. If Chance offers you a cup of his ‘world-famous’ party punch, say no. That shit is like gasoline.”
She laughed again, and it was time to make my move and ask her to homecoming. But I was so goddamn tired of putting on this king-of-the-world show when real life was hammering at me like the pulsing music and noise of this stupid party.
I moved in closer to Violet. “So listen…”
“Yes?” She glanced up, her blue eyes large and soft.
“My mom said it was awesome meeting you.”
“Oh. Right.” She sounded as if she’d been waiting for me to say something else. Or ask something else.
I just want to talk to someone and have a real fucking honest conversation.
“You made her happy, and that’s a big deal to me. So thanks for that.”
“Of course. She’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, she is.” My eyes stung, and I drowned the swell of grief in a long pull of beer.
“Yo, Whitmore!” Chance called. “Beer pong is happening now.”
I sighed. “So…maybe we can talk more later?”
Violet smiled prettily. “Sure. Yes. I’d like that.”
I managed a small smile in return. “Don’t drink the punch.”
I left Violet to play beer pong with the guys, drinking the time down.
Minutes bled into each other, and my wandering gaze gave up searching for whatever or whoever I was looking for.
When the game ended, we converged in the kitchen for shots while Evelyn talked up a game of seven minutes in heaven.
I quickly downed the rest of my beer. “Hey, Chance, I think I’m going to bail.”
“What? Hell no. It’s not even ten.”
“Yeah, but I’m—”
“Oh goody, everyone’s here…” Evelyn said loudly, then lowered her voice to a satisfied purr. “I take it back. Now everyone is here.”
I lifted my bleary gaze, and my damn heart jump-started.
He’s here. And the part of me that had been seeking stopped.
Holden Parish lounged against the kitchen counter as if he’d been there all night.
But for a bloodred scarf hanging loosely around his neck, he was dressed all in black.
The sheer fucking perfection of him seized my attention and refused to let go.
He reminded me of the vampire Lestat from the Anne Rice books I’d stolen from my mom’s bookshelf and secretly read as a kid.
Lestat moved across centuries, always elegant, always making the era conform to him.
Holden doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about him.