Chapter 59
THE BACKYARD IS COOL AT this time of night.
Music continues to vibrate the house, its walls and floors pulsing to the base of pop, RB, and EDM mixes.
I've spent more time drinking and dancing, able to flag down Ashton for a brief exchange of words, no more than a minute tops.
He's been fluttering room to room, upstairs to downstairs and back again to make sure his party runs smoothly.
He's being a responsible host. But by the looks of it, I don't think Ashton will be hosting another party soon.
"I. Am. Exhausted," is what he said to me the last time I was able to speak to him. Forty minutes ago.
I've migrated outside, across a stone pathway that cuts from the house's back door, through the lawn at the side to a patio furnished with a swing chair, a single couch, wooden benches, and a table.
The rest of the backyard is tiled over and has a pool around which a few partygoers are gathered. Inside the pool, some are frolicking.
We have the patio to ourselves and good thing too.
Carter is sprawled on the couch in a slouch, giddy and wasted again. Groaning about this and that, complaining about feeling sick while Asher tries coaxing him to eat another sandwich and drink some more water.
Laken is hunkered down in the swing chair, his attention focused on Dale whose occupying the bench closest to it. They're immersed in their own world of private conversation, Dale leaning close to ruffle the front of Laken's hair.
Sky sits next to me on one of the benches, his arm resting loosely around my waist. We're planning to leave soon. Dale is sober enough to drive and is waiting for Carter to sober up a little before taking him and Asher home.
Carter's parents may worry if they see him in this condition.
"I'm not hungry," he moans, pushing away Asher's hand that clutches a chicken paste sandwich.
"We can't take you home in this condition. Please eat something so we can go," Asher reasons.
"Is he going to be okay?" I ask, leaning closer to Sky so that only he can hear. We watch Asher break off a piece of bread and hand feed it to Carter who accepts the bite only to spit it back out.
"For fuck's sake!" Asher admonishes. "You feel like shit so that means you've got to make everyone else miserable? Eat the damn sandwich before I fist it down your throat."
Carter starts crying.
Well, how about that?
"I didn't –" Asher whines regretfully. Carter weeps harder.
"I hate all of you. None of you understand me or what I'm going through!" he sobs, bowing over. He groans in misery and gags. The sobs come harder and it's clear that whatever he's dealing with is taking a toll on him.
"I'm sorry," Asher apologizes, softer and full of empathy. "You're right. You're dealing with a lot, but you have to sober up."
"What's wrong with him?" I'm careful to keep my voice down that the conversation stays between me and Sky. I don't want to upset Carter further if he hears me talking about him. He's known to have outbursts and be downright nasty at times, but I've never seen this side of him.
I've never seen him so vulnerable.
Sky turns his head toward me, away from Carter's view. "He and Kelly fought."
"Does this happen often?" For a reason I can't name, I suddenly feel a swell of protectiveness. I don't like seeing Carter this way.
"Too often," Sky replies.
I shake my head and lean back against the wooden panels of the patio walls. "If the relationship is that bad, why doesn't he just...leave?"
Sky shrugs. "He loves her."
My eyebrow raises. My knee starts bouncing the longer Carter weeps, his loud sobs reduced to quieter sniffling, his face half-hidden behind his hands. He's still bowed over, elbows resting on his knees. I'm about to say it's absolute bullshit.
Love isn't supposed to sound like those wretched cries he's making. I don't get the chance because our relative peace is interrupted by the approach of the last person I wish to cross paths with.
The change is swift.
Dale plucks Laken out of the swing chair and brings him to his side. Sky's grip tightens a fraction around my waist.
Asher switches from using the low table as a chair to sitting on the couch's armrest, shielding Carter with his body.
Blake Dalton comes striding up to the patio; gait too confident for my liking considering the last time we exchanged words, and his sorry state at the moment. Still, his smug grin is enough to put me on edge and have my jaw clenching.
He's not alone. Katy is at his side, a phone already in her hands.
That protective feeling grows, fueled by a bubbling rage. They better not say a word.
Behind them, three guys from the football team are in tow, and at the very back, Brent lingers drinking from a red cup, appearing mildly disinterested.
I'm not worried about him. It's Blake and his three football buddies who hold my attention. They all wear grins that make their faces look punchable.
"Is that...Hayes?" Blake taunts, squinting as if he suddenly can't see.
He should squint harder. Let the blood vessels in his eyes pop and blind him permanently.
Blake's malicious cackle carries in the outdoor acoustics, drawing a few curious stares from the partygoers around the pool. Katy has her phone pointed toward Carter prompting Asher to shift and angle his body so that Carter is hidden.
These fuckers won't let up and none of us are in the mood to deal with them. Not when they have an agenda which seems to involve embarrassing Carter.
"Back off, Dalton," Asher warns, a growling quality to his words menacing enough to deliver the message. He'll attack if push comes to shove and by the rigidity of his posture, he's close to losing it.
Of course, Blake takes the warning into stride. No, he ignores it.
"You know," Blake continues, "I'd feel sorry for you." His malicious attention is zeroed in on the most vulnerable among us at the moment.
"Get lost," Carter rasps out. My hands tighten around the half-empty cup of beer, jaw clenching tighter. My knee stops bouncing, resorting to curling my toes inside my sneakers, trying to stay calm.
The asshole persists. "But I can't blame my sister for not giving a shit about you. Clearly, she knows she can do better. I mean look at you, man. You got kicked off the team for your anger issues and now you're drunk and crying over someone who doesn't give a shit about you. That's really pathetic,
man. Even for you."
Too. Far.
Carter's on his feet, advancing toward Blake. "Fuck you, dude!"
And then all falls silent following a ripple of startled gasps.
The pool's gone quiet, everyone staring in shock, in disbelief, and anticipation, because before I've had a chance to think, I've crossed the patio.
The cup goes flying straight at Blake's head, and then my hands are fisted in his shirt.
His back hits the wooden pillar with a thud, head banging against the edge. He flinches, recovering quickly. A malicious grin curls his mouth under the beer splattered across his face, dripping onto his clothes.
"If you've got a problem with me, because that's the real reason you came here, then come at me. Leave my friends alone."
"Oh, they're your friends now. That's cute."
"They're a lot nicer than you twats ever were."
Blake chuckles darkly and my patience snaps thinner. Tightening my hold on his shirt, I bring him forward and slam him back against the pillar. He grunts, suppressing a cough.
"You've got some audacity coming where you're not wanted," I start, the words viscous and damning as they spill out. Months upon months of repressed rage directed at this jackass comes gushing out, laced with venom and harsh truths that even Blake himself dares not admit.
"You think you're better than us? Give me a break. You're just some dickhead who gets off on tearing others down because it's the only way you can feel important. Especially since you're your father's disgrace and the reason your mother drowns her woes in wine instead of being a mother. Admit it,
Blake. You break others down because bitterness is all you've got in your pathetic life."
A collective "Shit!" sweeps the patio. The tension is palpable as Blake's nostrils flare. The rage in his eyes turns molten, whites reddening, and brimming with moisture.
Blake lets out a guttural cry, thrashing his head forward, teeth bared.
I evade the hit because I anticipated it, too familiar with how recklessly he fights.
I rear back, fist curling one moment and then it goes flying, the punch landing square on his nose.
There's a satisfying crunch, crimson liquid spurting from his broken nose and smearing my knuckles.
The guttural cry of fury turns into a pain-filled holler and then all hell breaks loose.
Blake and his football buddies descend upon us like bloodthirsty hounds. Katy backs out of immediate danger but films everything. Gasps of panic and screams of terror carry from the partygoers by the pool.
Laken and Carter are shoved out of harm's way, deeper into the patio since they're too inebriated to handle a fight.
I barely get a hit in because Dale, Sky, and Asher jump into the fray without wasting breath or blow.
I'm outmatched by a landslide beside them but three against four – five, since Brent joined the fight after all – hardly seems like a fair fight.
Not that it matters.
Asher easily takes Blake down who's barely a match with his dominant hand wrapped thickly in bandage. He's specifically targeted Blake, landing punch after punch, shouting insults and profanities. He's still going after Blake passes out and he lets up only when Carter drunkenly pulls him away.
Dale has knocked out one guy; chucked the other unconscious in the nearby garden hedge. Sky solos against two – the still-standing football player and Brent.
Sky expertly dodges a punch, dragging his body low and angled, his leg rising with impossible accuracy and speed. The kick echoes, landing squarely on the guy's jaw. He falls flat, unconscious.
And then it's Sky versus Brent. That doesn't last long either.
Nobody anticipates it. Shocked gasps and murmurs erupt following the sound of Brent's terrified scream; the crack and groan of the wooden fence barricading the Meyers' backyard.
The music seems to stop, everything moving in slow motion. They spill out into the open grass field beyond. I'm already running toward them when Sky scrambles to his feet, breathing hard, a rumbling sound I can't quite place emanating from him.
I can barely focus on him though, my gaze zeroing in on Brent whose agonized screams rip through the night. He's curled on his side, writhing on the ground. Tears spurt from his eyes, arms protectively wrapped around his torso.
I see blood. Jagged flesh. Torn fabric.
More blood.
Deep gashes about an inch thick run the length from the left shoulder to the middle of his chest. His shirt has been reduced to rags, blood soaking the white cotton fabric, turning it a horrifying shade of red.
I can't begin to make sense of the injury. Brent went through the fence back-first and there are no visible items that could be used as a weapon except the jagged edges of the fence where part of it is missing, splintered and broken wood strewn across the grass around Sky and Brent.
But Sky's right hand is dripping blood too. No other part of him seems injured but it's only after looking closely that I realize the blood isn't his.
It's Brent's, whose screams snap me out of trying to make sense of the incident and focus on him. He's still writhing in pain, fresh tears still streaming down his face. Hardly anyone moves – it seems like no one knows what to do.
"What the hell is going on?" comes Ashton's bellow from across the yard. He stomps across the path and grass; wide, panic-filled eyes staring at the damage to the fence. He halts in his tracks, jaw moving soundlessly for a beat before his attention is averted to Brent.
It's Dale who breaches the distance first, running through the fence into the open grass field, slipping in front of Sky. He pushes his shoulder, urging to calm down, the earlier fury on Sky's face melting into confusion and then remorse.
Sky's gaze finds me where I'm crouching at Brent's side, conflict brewing within because I don't know how to feel about this. Brent used to be my friend and he did get involved in the fight.
But Sky took it too far. How he managed to deal those injuries is a question for another time.
He glances between Brent and his bloodied hand, remorse growing. He steps forward as if to apologize but stops short when Brent lets out another scream – sudden and petrified.
"No! Stay away from me!"
Brent's gone pale. As if he's seen something he can't explain and he's beyond afraid of it.
"Harper," he tries. "I didn't –"
"Get away from me!"
"He needs to go to the hospital," Dale declares. Firm and clear, it cuts like the voice of reason we need at a moment where everything feels like it's spiraling out of control. He turns to Sky, his expression stony. "Take care of this before it gets out of hand."
"What do you want me to do?" Sky fires.
"Take Harper to the hospital. Foot the bill. I'll handle the rest. Hopefully, this doesn't reach the Council."
My eyebrows pinch tight together. What does the Town Council have to do with this? Why would they get involved over a fight between high schoolers at a party?
Sky shakes his head. "No, you're right. I'll take care of it."
"Good," Dale replies. "Take Jace with you. He might be able to keep Harper calm long enough to reach the hospital."