Chapter 32 #2
I suck in a breath and open my eyes. Dropping to my knees, I wiggle open the bottom drawer of my desk.
After pushing aside a pile of papers, I pull out a nearly empty bottle of vodka.
Twisting off the cap, I down it in one swallow.
Then I stand up, grab a jacket and my purse, and start for the window, climbing out into the night.
Luckily, the rain has stopped, but the roof is still slick. My foot slips, and I let out a low curse as I struggle to find my balance.
I make my way down the side of the house and start walking. I haven’t made it far when I hear loud music drifting into the street. I know where it’s coming from before I even find myself in front of the house.
The Donaldson brothers throw a party every week. Usually multiple times a week, actually.
They’ve been on their own for years, the oldest brother, Jackson, practically raising the younger two.
I’ve been to their parties with Jameson and Billy before, but I mostly know them through Johnny. Him and Jackson grew up together.
I stare up at the house, my eyes catching on the people milling around out front. Most of them, I don’t recognize, which is exactly what I want.
This place reminds me of Johnny, having tagged along with him countless times when he came to play gin or hang out. But on nights like this, when there’s so many people that the party is spilling out from the house onto the lawn, I can get lost in the crowd.
I can escape.
Moving forward, I weave my way through couples pressed against each other and overly loud conversations, trying to make my way to the kitchen.
The house is packed, the air inside stale. Music pulses through the room, the sound of deep bass filling my head and chasing away my thoughts. Bodies brush up against mine as I shoulder my way through the space with one goal in mind.
Finding a drink.
Well, more like a bottle.
Finally, I slip into the kitchen, going right for the counter. I reach for a red Solo cup when I hear a familiar voice.
“Little Barlowe.”
Shit.
So much for getting lost in the crowd.
I turn and see Jackson leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a drink in hand. I’ve seen him a couple of times since the funeral, but he still eyes me wearily, his attention moving from me to the bottle in my hand.
“You here alone?” he asks.
I wave a hand toward him. “Not alone.”
He sighs. “You know what I mean, kid.”
I fill my cup with vodka—or is it tequila? I never actually looked—and shoot it back before pouring another.
“Aw …” I say, peering up at him. “You looking out for me, Jackson?”
Instead of answering, he asks, “Where’s Jameson tonight?”
I down my drink. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He brings his hand out to stop me as I reach for the bottle again. “Slow down, huh?”
I bat his hand away, grabbing the bottle. “What’s up with you? You used to be fun.”
His expression turns hard, reminding me so much of the one Johnny used to give me. “You’re not here to have fun,” he states. “He would have wanted me—”
“Well”—I tip the bottle—“he’s not here, so you’re off the hook.”
“Sam …”
I slam the cup down harder than I intended, the contents sloshing around inside. “Can you just give me a break? A fucking second to …” I sigh, and he takes a tentative step toward me. “I just need a night, okay?”
He watches me for a second before he nods. “Yeah, okay. But you come find me if you need anything, all right?”
I let out a breath. “Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes on the table. “You know, for caring.”
He sets his hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. “Anytime, kid.”
“Jackson,” someone calls from the other room, pulling his attention.
He points at me. “Pace yourself at least, yeah?”
I tip my cup in a mock salute, and he shakes his head at my non-answer before following the voice that’s calling for him.
Once he’s gone, I start for the backyard, settling on a spot at the far corner of the deck. I take in a long breath, the cool air filling my lungs.
“You got a light?” someone with a deep voice asks as I feel them move in beside me.
I’m about to tell them to fuck off when I turn and see a guy I don’t recognize holding up an unlit joint.
“Depends,” I tell him.
“On what?”
“If you’re gonna share.”
He looks me over, a smile coming to his lips. “Yeah, I’ll share.”
I empty my cup, set it down on the railing, and search through my purse before handing him my lighter.
He takes a hit before passing the joint to me.
Inhaling, my shoulders drop as the smoke hits the back of my throat. I hold it there for a moment before letting it go. When I turn to hand it back to the guy, I find him watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re just … um …”
My head is turning foggy, the drinks starting to curl around my mind.
He holds the joint back out for me to take.
“I’m what?”
“You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”
I exhale a cloud of smoke, settling into the feeling of numbness that’s beginning to wash over me.
“You must get that a lot,” he rushes on when I don’t respond.
“All the time,” I mutter, and he laughs.
I laugh, too, but I don’t know why. I don’t think anything was actually funny.
He takes it as an invitation to step forward.
“I have a boyfriend,” I tell him.
“Course you do.” He takes another step, and I take one back. He looks around. “I don’t see him anywhere, though.”
“He’s not here,” I answer before realizing that might have been the wrong thing to say.
“Why not?”
“Fight,” I mumble.
“Hmm?”
“He had a fight.”
“A fight?” His head tilts to the side. “Who’s your boyfriend?”
“Jameson.”
“Jameson who?”
“Huh?” I ask, my head beginning to swim.
“Baxston?” He steps back. “Is your boyfriend Jameson Baxston?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah,” he answers, putting more space between us. “Everybody knows him.” His face shifts, and he looks serious, or mad, or I don’t really know. Different, though. He looks different now.
He grinds out the last of the joint into the railing, and I frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you here by yourself?” he questions. “Did you come with friends?”
I laugh. “Friends?”
“Jesus,” he hisses. “You’re Sam, right?”
“How do you know my name?” I back away from him. “Who are you?” Stumbling, I fall back, hitting my shoulder against the railing. “Ow,” I whine.
“Shit,” the guy says, leaning forward to help me up. “How much have you had to drink?”
“I’m fine,” I slur, trying to move away from him, but it feels like the space around me is spinning.
“I’m just gonna lay down,” I tell him, starting to lower myself to the ground.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He steps forward. “You’re gonna fall.”
I push his hands away. “I can do it myself.”
“Just let me help you,” he grits out, guiding me until I’m sitting with my back against the railing. Once I’m in place, he hovers over me and takes out his phone. I try to listen to what he’s saying, but the words are muffled and I can only make out little pieces.
“… your girl …”
“… the Donaldson house …”
“… I swear I didn’t know …”
He hangs up and begins to pace in front of me.
“You’re making me dizzy.”
He slows his movements, standing over me like a guard or something.
“Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not.”
I lick my lips. “Yeah huh.”
My head lulls, and I blink, the space around me growing blurry. My body feels heavy as I lean my head back and rub my palms against my eyes, hoping that’ll make the pressure building behind them stop.
The sounds around me fade, and I let the darkness wash over me. Everything floats away, and it feels good to turn it all off.
I sink deeper into the oblivion until a voice pulls me out of it.
The voice.
His voice.
My eyes flit open, and I find Jameson staring back at me.