Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
House music swallows me whole. Light, sweat, motion. I cut through it all, heart pounding with purpose. He won’t be dancing. Won’t be drinking for sport.
I scan.
Not there.
Not there.
Bar. Beer pong. Pool table. Nothing.
Where is he? Did I miss him outside, or did he leave? I’m about to double back, but then—
Someone moves, and there.
Tucked into a corner, half-shadowed and away from the pulse of the party. Carson. His back’s to the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and in front of him… a girl.
Too close. Laughing.
Her presence sparks the jealousy, sure, but the real wound comes from him. That slight curve of his mouth, the one I’ve been starving for. All night, he’s given me nothing but silence. Yet there he is…
I don’t even notice I’m retreating until someone blocks my path.
“Hey! I thought that was you.” Brown eyes crinkle with recognition. “Brielle, right? New hair. Haven’t seen you since we were supposed to meet up at that party.”
Connor. Frisbee-tossing, Janson’s-party-inviting Connor.
I smother a groan and manage a thin smile. “Yeah. Hey, Connor. Sorry for ghosting you. I didn’t mean to, but a lot went down that night.”
He tips his head. “Everything good?” When I nod, his mouth kicks up. “Then you owe me. One dance.”
“You don’t want to dance with me right now. I’ll kill your vibe.”
“Aw, come on. You mean to tell me blondes do have more fun?”
I don’t get the chance to reply. Pressure at my back knocks me forward, and Connor’s hands clamp my hips, steadying. Lingering. He shoots a glare past me. “Watch it, dude.”
I should step away. Out of his grasp. I should.
But I don’t.
My eyes find Carson—and his find me.
Well, not me, exactly. His stare hooks on Connor’s hands. The crescendoing music matches the tempo of my pulse as his eyes cut a narrow path up, and lock on mine, dark. I wait, Aspen’s observation flashing in my mind.
He’s crazy over you.
But… nothing. No reaction. Just the way his sleeves pull over his biceps as he remains unmoving. Disappointment, and an emotion I can’t—won’t—name, tumbles into me.
I blink back to Connor, but his mouth moves like I’ve hit mute.
“Sorry, what was that? I’m all over the place tonight.”
He leans in. “I said, are you okay? Want some air?”
The question cuts deeper than it should. I stare at the sand ground into laminate, blinking hard. “Yeah. No. I’m fine.”
A beat lingers. Then his fingers graze my wrist. “Come on. No backing out now.” He threads our hands together, tugging. “We’re dancing.”
“Why? Why would you want to dance with me?” I’m a mess.
“You kidding?” he asks, his other hand skimming up my arm. “You’re easily the hottest girl here.”
I wait for the compliment to land. For the flush.
Nothing. Then I imagine it coming from Carson, and, God, it scorches.
My eyes pull back to him on their own.
His lips move, her laugh bubbles again, but Carson’s not watching her. He’s watching me.
In the split-second that our eyes meet, something shifts. Barely, but I feel it. A flicker. A break in the indifference. The space between us swells with everything unsaid.
I lose myself to the moment, everything falling away. The music. The heat. Connor.
Gone.
For me.
Which is why he reacts before I do. One second he’s leaning back, unreadable. The next he’s upright, coiled, like he’s seconds from tearing across the room. The redhead sees it too, her laugh faltering.
Then I catch it. Connor’s touch, no longer harmless at my wrist. His fingers now trace the worn edges of my bracelets.
I snatch my hands back on instinct.
“Woah.” He raises his. “My bad.”
“I know.” The words rush out, an attempt at damage control before Carson actually storms across the room. “It’s fine. I just… need to go.”
My first step angles toward the beach, but no. That would scream retreat. I force myself to shoulder through the crowd and make for him instead.
He follows my every step, and I pray the twist of jealousy in my chest doesn’t show. Still, I falter when the girl glances back and her siren-like beauty hits.
Her smile only twists the knife; it’s a smile of someone untouched by shadows.
Mine barely passes as functional. “Hi.” I stop between them, angled to dodge Carson’s stare. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Carson’s answer isn’t verbal. It’s action. He moves fluidly, pulling me in until my back rests against his chest. His hands steady me. A ghost of a touch at first, then firmer, like he’s erasing something. Heat seeps through linen, possession threaded with something deeper.
Maybe I imagine the intent. Maybe not. I don’t care; pain ceases to matter when he holds me like this.
The redhead gives us a slow once-over, brow arching. “You’re definitely not intruding. I’m Samantha.”
“Bri—”
“Brielle, right?” She flicks her fingers like it’s old news. “Carson’s been talking about you. You’re from Merrin?”
He has? My pulse spikes instantly. I just nod.
“So am I.”
“Oh.” I push a smile to the surface. “Small world. You here for the summer?”
“Yep. I was actually just telling Carson about all the best spots. He seemed eager to know.”
I turn toward him, trying to lace my tone with something light. “You could’ve asked me.” Grey eyes meet mine, unblinking. “You planning to go?”
Samantha huffs, something between a scoff and a laugh. “From what I gathered, he’ll be visiting a lot.”
What? I haven’t let myself think about the end of summer. About the distance, and the miles replacing minutes. But hearing he might visit… that stirs something it shouldn’t. Hope.
“Really?” Despite myself, I beam up at him. “When you come, I’ll show you around.”
He doesn’t nod like I expect. Doesn’t say a word like I hope. He just stares.
The silence stretches, and with it, embarrassment surfaces. What was I thinking? He was here, talking to a gorgeous girl, asking about her town, and I barged right in.
“No worries if you don’t want that, though.” I try saving face. “I don’t mind either way.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s about to say something—
But Samantha gets there first. “You look familiar, Brielle. What college are you at?”
I rattle mine off. “You?”
She names a different one.
“Guess I just have one of those faces.”
She squints, tilting her head. “No. No, that’s not it…”
Her stare needles into me, and I would shift if Carson’s grip wasn’t so solid.
“I used to be blonde,” I offer, almost apologetic. “Maybe that’s it?”
“Hmm. Maybe.” She waves a hand, half-dismissive. “Still can’t place it, but whatever. I’ll see you guys around.” She turns to go, but at the last second spins back so fast it jolts me. Her eyes are wide. “Wait. Oh my god. You were in the news, weren’t you? For drunk driving, I think. But I swear—”
It’s a blade to the gut. I go rigid, every cell screaming no. Carson’s hands tighten, no longer possessive, but like a wire pulled taut.
Not like this. Please, God, not like this. Not here.
Samantha must see it in my face, whatever horror’s broken through, because her mouth snaps shut. She backpedals, her retreat wrapped in a hasty, “Never mind.”
It’s too late. The blade’s already buried.
Carson spins me and my back hits the wall with a muted thud as his frame blots out the chaos behind. Whatever he sees—it’s enough for him to regard me with a degree of coldness that cuts. “Was anyone hurt?”
Three words. That’s all it takes.
And I’m back there.
The shrill ringtone. Waking up disoriented. The gutting retelling.
She was drinking. Over the limit. Behind the wheel.
No one else was involved. No one else was hurt. Just her. She was hurt. She was dead.
I nod, once, and the motion nearly breaks me.
Cool reserve thaws completely, grey eyes going wild. “And you didn’t think to tell me this? When I told you about my dad, Brielle?”
The betrayal in his voice is deserved, but it carves me open anyway.
“I’m sorry, Carson. I couldn’t. I just—” It chokes out, half-formed.
He waits. Watches. Then, when nothing comes, snaps. “You just what? You felt guilty?” He spits the word like it tastes foul. A vein in his neck pulses. “All this time, it was fucking guilt?”
“No.” Breathless, broken. I reach for him, aching to bridge the space before it collapses, but he jerks back. Flinches. Tears brim and burn.
“It’s not that,” I croak. “You don’t understand—”
“Because you never tell me anything!” His voice is a whip crack, drowned only by the music pounding around us. “I’ve tried, Brielle. Over and over, I’ve tried. But you just hid the entire time.” He exhales a bitter laugh. “And now I get it. I finally get it.”
Tears pool down in a stream of failure. I should wipe them away, say something, anything. That’s why I came in here. To explain.
But my heart is shredded and I can manage is, “I’m sorry.” Again, smaller, “I’m sorry.”
His hand rakes the back of his neck, eyes catching on my shaking palm. For a flicker, something in him stumbles. He’s quick to shut it down.
“I can’t be around you right now.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd and leaving me to stand against the surge alone.
I try. God, I try. But the grief is relentless, crashing over me with weeks of force. It tears me down, leaves me gasping.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I rehearsed it. Somewhere private. Somewhere safe.
His bed. My truth. His arms.
Not this. Not here. Not like this.
She deserves more than this. She deserves to be remembered better.
“Love you, B.” Her voice drifts in, soft as a draft from a door I thought I’d shut. “Imagine having to do this life thing without each other. God, it’d be so boring. What would I even do?”
That was one of the memories I had to discard on the end of a line. It was too cruel to carry considering she’d said that only three days before dying. I remember laughing, teasing that she wouldn’t survive without me.
Now look at me.
My breaths stumble toward collapse but before it can completely give, the air shifts. Static. A presence.
He’s still here. He didn’t leave.
“Make sure you go back with Reese or Dylan.”
My breath catches. Still here, but not with me.
I don’t open my eyes. I can’t. I feel him move closer, but it isn’t warmth that reaches me. It’s cold, sharp as glass between us.
“Okay?” There’s less bite now, maybe even a thread of softness. But it’s empty. Hollow.
I dip my head once. Understood.
Still, he lingers.
Please, I think. Please just pull me into your arms and make this stop hurting. Please give me a fighting chance.
Nothing.
“Shall I get Aspen for you?”
“No.” It scrapes out. “I just need a minute.”
That must be enough. Because, then, he leaves for real.
I blink, and the world shifts.
Feet moving. Sand biting at my heels. The beach swallowing every step like it can erase me.
Stars scatter overhead, too many, too far. I search for the one that matters, the one Carson always follows when he gets lost in his head.
The North Star. Shining bright.
But I’m not Carson.
This isn’t my compass. Not when everything’s falling apart. I’m still so lost, drowning in a tidal wave of grief, and getting dragged under again and again.
Memories slam into me like surf. Bryce’s laugh. Her perfume clinging to my hoodie. Her face, the last time I saw it—alive. I quicken, like if I keep moving the ghosts will fall behind.
They don’t.
By the time I reach the front deck, my vision is blurred and my lungs ache. I am too loud for all this silence. The slam of the screen door. The scuff of my shoes. The broken sound I don’t mean to make.
Then I see it.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. My hand just moves.
It’s warm in my grip, like it knows.
The next thing I know, I’m in the driver’s seat. The wheel is heavy in my grip and the engine shudders awake.
How many nights have I drove aimlessly, desperate for the blur to swallow me whole? So many.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I know exactly where I’m going.