Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
I’m a couple of hours into a party at the Remington’s, hanging with my core buddies. The five of us—Remy, Terry, Jeremy, Vinny, and I—gelled from the early days, still play on the same baseball team, and attend Montera Junior High. We’ve formed a tight pack.
There are plenty of people here, but we easily clear the deep end with our acrobatics off the diving board. Our splashes don’t reach gargantuan levels, but damn if we don’t try.
The adults are half-toasted, the norm around here.
Remy already pocketed a joint he liberated from a seat cushion that we’ll smoke later, and of course, he spiked our sodas…
because that kid has balls. He takes more chances than anyone I’ve ever met—and gets away with it every time.
Even if his parents caught him, I doubt they’d care.
This house is party central and the Remingtons know how to do it up.
It’s become my second home, and I’d live here in half a heartbeat if I could.
His parents treat me like another son. They’re aware I crash here whenever I want, although they’ve stopped pressing me about why.
After my continual clamming up, they dropped it.
Pretty certain Remy pacified them somehow.
Sometimes it’s obvious when I’ve got stitches or visible bruises, but I’ve learned over the years people don’t really want to get involved in messy family matters.
I’m just grateful they let it slide and are cool with me hanging here so much.
I don’t take their kindness for granted.
It’s not that I want to leave my mom or brothers—and the guilt smothers me sometimes—but I can’t fight their battles. Or win them anyway.
It’s easier here. No one grips the back of your neck breathing hot anger into your face. No one smashes your head into a cabinet. No one screams how worthless you are. I hate my father and even more, my powerlessness against him.
Terry bounces his body high into the air and compacts into a cannonball. He’s still the strongest in our ragtag group, skin already outlining his muscles, and his body craters when it hits, creating a big-ass splash. He emerges from underwater with a cocky grin.
“I give it a seven,” Jeremy drawls.
“Solid eight!” Vinny adds.
I squint, cocking my head. “I’m with Jer on this one.”
Remy, his freckles even more prominent with his copper hair plastered to his head, jogs to the edge of the board. He jumps high and goes for a flying squirrel, stretching out flat and holding his ankles behind him. But he releases late, executing a full belly flop instead.
We’re roaring when he finally emerges.
“Shut up, you fart lickers.”
Vinny’s bent over, cracking up, and seeing him causes a chain reaction where we all convulse with laughter. Maybe it’s Remy’s expression, like he wants to kill us. Except he’s the happiest kid I’ve ever met, so it lasts about five seconds before he busts a gut too.
After taking another slug of my spiked drink, I position myself in line behind Vinny to jump off the board.
“You see that girl?” Vin says, motioning to some lounge chairs with his eyes.
I casually glance in that direction, where some older girls are setting up towels. High school age, I’d wager, probably friends of Remy’s brother. The one in the middle’s a real looker with golden waves that land mid-chest and short cutoffs revealing slivers of her ass. “Which one?”
“The blonde.”
I nod.
“I’d like to get her alone.”
It’s all I can do not to scoff. We’re all dying to touch girls up close and personal—and have the wet dreams to prove it—but I highly doubt a high schooler is going to pay a shred of attention to our skinny, pimply, awkward asses.
“Wouldn’t we all,” I murmur, unable to look away from the curve of her breasts peeking from her bikini top.
After getting sufficiently waterlogged, the five of us sneak off and smoke the joint.
It’s my second time. We each take a couple of hits—Jeremy and Vinny sputtering out heaving coughs—and man, I’m relieved I’ve already mastered inhaling.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re stoned off our asses and howling like wolves.
Until Jeremy farts and we laugh so hard, tears run down our faces.
This is freedom. Because I don’t care…about anything.
And it’s bliss.