I might have said yes at this point, simply because we’re literally standing underneath the Hollywood Sign and it’s the perfect place to accept a date, but Tyler is yelling, “What the hell, man?” before I even get the chance to open my mouth.
“What?” Jake pulls an irritated face, stepping back from the sign to meet Tyler’s eyes as he approaches us with his hands balled into fists.
“What the hell did you just say to her?” Tyler’s expression is hard, jaw clenched, eyes dark. He steps closely in front of Jake, his forehead tilted down as he narrows his eyes into tiny slits.
“Tension,” Rachael mouths when I glance at her for help. I do vaguely remember her saying something about there being this unspoken tension between the pair. Right now, it no longer seems unspoken.
“Bro, get outta my face,” Jake mutters. He retreats and shrugs, throwing up his hands and turning to the side.
“No,” Tyler objects, shaking his head as he takes a step around Jake, straightening up in front of him again and jabbing a finger into his chest. “You two are not happening. I’ll kick your ass if you even think about it.”
“Tyler, baby, chill,” Tiffani says, and she forces her body in between the two of them. With her hands on Tyler’s chest, she tries to push him back, but his eyes are still locked on Jake. “Don’t be an asshole. Stop trying to start a fight.”
Dean joins in, stepping in front of Jake and shaking his head in disapproval. “C’mon, guys. Quit it.”
Then my attention is torn away from the potential fight to the faint drill and the pumping of motors and the whirling of blades, and as the sound grows louder, I find myself glancing up to the sky.
And it is then that I find myself under the eye of an LAPD helicopter.
Chapter 9
Tilting my head back to the sky, I squint at the vehicle hovering above us. We all stop at once, our words tapering off and our expressions faltering.
“Shit!” Tyler yells, and then there’s a tremendous clang as he slams his palm against the metal of the H. He throws his hand back through his hair, shaking his head. “How the hell do they always get out here so fast?”
“Don’t trip!” Tiffani yells to us all. She reaches for Tyler’s hand and pulls him along with her, but instead of heading back for the fence, they make a beeline down the mountain.
“Let’s get outta here,” Jake calls from beside me, and he steals a good look at the helicopter before he decides to start moving. “Gotta race to the bottom before the cruiser gets here.”
“Those two aren’t waiting around, are they?” Dean jokes, laughing and nodding toward the shrinking figures of Tyler and Tiffani as they dart quickly between the dirt and the rocks and the shrubs. “Poor guy can’t afford to get arrested again.”
“Again?” I echo, but they all ignore me and make their move. Rachael and Meghan begin their descent while clinging to each other as though any misjudged footwork would cause them to fall to their deaths. It probably would.
“Be careful,” Dean calls over his shoulder to me as he, too, follows the vague outline of a trail and widely sidesteps—or slides—his way down.
With the sound of the helicopter still vibrating loudly around us, a wave of adrenaline rushes through my veins and my pulse beats painfully beneath my skin. Here’s when running every morning comes in handy. Despite the steepness of the terrain, I rush into action and follow Dean’s path. The ground is uneven and borderline painful to walk on at points, and soon I’m struggling to maintain my balance, praying that I don’t get arrested and hoping that I don’t die.
“Hanging in there, Eden?” Jake throws over his shoulder from beside me, hopping down from one rock to another, laughing. I don’t understand how he can possibly find this amusing.
“Trying to!” I call back. Just as I finish, my foot slips on a steeper part of the slope we’re carefully edging our way down, and I gasp.
A firm hand latches onto my elbow. “Careful,” Jake says firmly as he steadies me. He places his hands on my shoulders. “You alright?”
“I don’t want to go to jail,” I blurt, and then I glance up at the helicopter, panic written all over my face. When I look back down, I spot the rest of the group reaching solid ground again.
Jake laughs, but only as he slowly takes another step. “You’re not going to jail,” he says, and then he drops his hand to mine and pulls me along behind him. “The worst we’ll all get is a citation.”
Despite the reassurance, my stomach remains in knots as my body is hauled almost numbly down the rest of Mount Lee. Jake doesn’t trip, doesn’t slow us down, and doesn’t get us caught. I’m entirely thankful when we finally near the bottom after passing some houses and crossing over a trail. I spy the sign for the Sunset Ranch, and it suddenly becomes my favorite sign in the entire world.