15
I scream and jab an elbow back, nailing my attacker in the stomach.
There’s a groan. “Damn it, Phil.”
I whip around. “Bram? Why the hell did you grab me?”
“I didn’t grab you! I touched your shoulder.”
I wince, the incident replaying in my mind. “Sorry, it was instinct. You could’ve said you were behind me. What are you even doing out here?”
“It got loud.” He stops fussing with his injury to rub his temples. “When are these people leaving?”
“The party just started. And you guys told them they could come over.”
“Yeah, well, Adam and Henry aren’t in there. And I’m not exactly the life of the party.”
“No,” I say, “you’re not.”
His head falls back. “And that Mackenzie girl won’t stop talking. Please come inside and make her stop.”
“I can’t. I never found Adam. And then…” This part is even more embarrassing to admit. “I lost Henry.”
“Maybe he’s avoiding you,” Bram says without hesitation.
I clench my molars. “What’s your problem?” I ask, the anger in my voice letting him know he’s gotten to me. “You’re always a jerk, but you’re not usually this…mean. And you definitely don’t drink. Tell me what’s going on.”
He backs up, his spine grazing the hedge wall, crossing his arms. “Nothing’s going on.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been self-sabotaging all night, making yourself look like the asshole these people think you are.”
He straightens now, talking a step toward me. “I am exactly who these people think I am,” he says, each word spoken like a slap.
“That’s not true,” I argue, but he takes another step toward me, and I have to force myself to hold my ground.
The moon’s glow hits his face, casting shadows, highlighting sharp planes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says in that same bladed tone.
“I know you act like a jerk, but you care about people.”
“People like you?” he asks, his gray eyes dark and unreadable.
A lump forms in my throat, and I try to clear it. “People like your brothers.”
“Oh, like my brothers.” He laughs, but the sound is frayed. His face falls into shadow again, and when I take a step closer, I see his lips are contorted; he looks devastated.
“Hey,” I say, moving to him, reaching up to cup his rough jaw with my hand. “What happened? You’re worrying me.”
He lets out a breath, and it’s sweet and smoky from the liquor. “Don’t worry.”
“Then talk to me.”
“I don’t feel much like talking.”
“Then,” I start, failing to find the words.
Instead, I close the gap between us, wrapping my arms around his waist to pull him into a hug.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, letting him enfold me, letting his head rest on mine.
The moment from last year in Bram’s closet pushes into my head, and my body heats in response.
But I ignore it, because Bram relaxes into me, letting go of whatever burden he’s been carrying.
He lifts his head for a moment to examine me. “You really must’ve liked that drink I made you. It smells like you took a bath in it.”
“More like I spilled it all over myself trying to walk in the dark.”
His chest rumbles with a silent laugh.
“You’re deflecting,” I say, looking up into his miserable eyes.
He bites his lower lip, and his hands drop to my hips. When he speaks, it’s in a resigned voice. “Right before the party, my dad called me from Bali or wherever the hell he is. Apparently, the cops have new evidence. It’s not looking good for me.”
“But how?” I ask, inching back, my hands sliding from his spine to his sides in the process. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It looks like I did. This evidence, it’s pretty damning.”
“What do they—”
Leaves rustle in the maze, somewhere back in the direction of the house. I pull away from Bram and hurry toward it, turning the corner.
At the sound of my footsteps, the figure halts. Adam turns around, and by the look on his face in the moonlight, I know he saw everything.
“Adam,” I try, but he’s already barreling back to the house. “Adam, wait!”
He continues striding ahead, not stopping as he calls back. “You know, he told me!”
I struggle to keep up without tripping over something on the overgrown path. “Who told you? Bram?”
“No,” Adam says, his voice ragged from the physical exertion as he reaches the pond. “Henry.” He’s still moving too fast across the bridge.
“What? Adam,” I shout, winded myself now, “will you please slow down?”
He comes to a stop with his back to me. “Henry was furious with me. He told me how he finally got up the nerve to make a move with you. How he held your hand? How he thought everything was going so well, and how you two almost kissed? And how I ruined everything with my episode. Guess he was delusional, huh?”
“No, Adam,” I say, venturing a step closer. “He wasn’t delusional. I did want to kiss him.” I wheeze in a breath. “Bram was just upset. Please don’t make a big deal out of this. What you saw back there was nothing.”
“Oh, I know exactly what it was.”
“No, you—”
“I do,” he spits, turning on me so suddenly, with such ferocity that I flinch. “I do know. Because it’s who Bram is. It’s what he does.”
When I only gape at him, terror and confusion tangling in my chest, he smiles. It’s ghastly, and not in the way Adam might think. It has nothing to do with his scars and everything to do with the malice in that grin.
“Don’t you see? This is what Bram does. He steals girls away from the boys who actually love them.”
“No,” I protest. “Bram isn’t—”
But Adam is already clomping away from me, leaving me out here in the dark.