All facing Asshole’s house.
Stomping over to Tate’s iPod dock in my red-and-white-pin-striped pajama shorts and red T-shirt, I curled my bare toes into the rug and punched buttons, looking for Katy Perry’s “Firework.”
The light tinkling started, and I smiled, jacking up the volume full fucking blast.
Bobbing my head, I scowled through the doors, seeking my revenge and hoping that my tunes were drowning out his. Peering over the railing, I gritted my teeth, smiling viciously hard at the wide eyes and looks of disgust.
Take that, asswipes.
Katy’s voice rooted in my stomach and filled my chest, crowding the room like a thousand firecrackers in my heart.
And I started singing.
Hard.
I belted out lyrics, growling and shouting, feeling angry and sick. I squeezed my eyes shut, screaming the words throughout the room.
I can’t hear you, Gutless. No one hears you!
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
Gutless. Helpless.
I screamed the lyrics, the pitch coming deep from the pit of my stomach.
I pounded my fists. I wasn’t those things!
I was violent. I yelled so hard that my throat ached with rawness.
I was furious. I threw my head back and pounded the floor with my feet.
I was wild.
Violent. Furious. And wild.
And that was when I felt it.
The flutters.
In my stomach. In my chest. In my head. In my legs.
I broke out in a huge smile, gasping through my laughter.
I dropped my head and continued to let the rumble pour out of my lungs, and I let the tears fall, streaming down my face and making me a sloppy mess.
Because with every tear, every laugh, every breath, all the years of feeling powerless left my body, and I felt what I don’t remember ever feeling before.
Freedom.
I just let go.
As I bobbed onto my knees, the words came out shaky.
“ ‘You just gotta … ignite … the light,’ ” I stuttered, my voice growing stronger, “ ‘and let it shine.’ ” I spread out my arms and belted out the goddamn lyrics.
“ ‘Just own the night like the Fourth of Ju-ly!’ ”
And when the drums started pounding, I popped my knees up off the floor and jumped up and down like a crazy person, whipping my head front, back, side to side, and singing. Singing for me.
Laughing, smiling, throwing my arms in the air every which way, I leaped onto the bed and bounced back to the floor, twirling around the room and forgetting the party outside.
The song was inside me, and I was fucking happy for the first time in my life. Liam didn’t do it. Neither did Jax. Nor my friends or my family.
When the song ended, I played it again. And again. And again. Dancing. Laughing. Living.
I guessed we’ve all built ourselves up through sadness, disappointment, and experience. It just happens at different times and in different ways.
Jared’s parties pissed off Tate, so she beat him.
Jax’s parties pissed me off, so I joined him.
CHAPTER 9
JAXON
If there was one thing I craved day after day, it was the feeling of want.
We want a house, a car, a fancy fucking vacation, and prestige, so what do we do? We go to school, and we get jobs we hate to pay for the things we want. We deal with people we don’t like and waste years of our lives sitting in stark, fluorescent-lit rooms and listening to coworkers who bore us so we can pay for a small amount of precious time to enjoy what makes us happy. To achieve a fraction of our lives just feeling as if it was all worth it.
We sacrifice to earn.
Well, I had a house. Not a mansion but a warm, clean home given to me by a woman who loved me and became the mother she didn’t have to be.
I had a car. Not a Ferrari or some other coveted sports car but a loud and fast Mustang GT given to me by a brother I loved.
I had a fancy fucking vacation. I was still on it. Given to me by a new mother and a good brother who had rescued me from abuse and foster care.
I had prestige. Sure, it was in the small town of Shelburne Falls, and no one outside the county limits knew who the hell I was, but the people I saw every day and considered friends were the only ones who mattered.
I had everything everyone else sells their entire lives for.
I had everything except K. C. Carter, the one thing I wanted.
The first time I ever saw her, the ground flipped beneath my feet, and the world spun all around me. Even though I’d had girlfriends and had sex more times than I could count, I’d never had a crush on someone.
And I loved it. I loved the way she resisted me.
Wanting her was more addicting than the idea of actually getting her. I started to live for that feeling of knowing I was going to see her every day at school. She’s in the cafeteria. I can feel her.
Standing in a group with her and feeling the pull to touch her as if we were two fucking magnets, and I had to fight the urge not to reach out. The hair on my body would stand on end as soon as she was near. Knowing her eyes were on me, and relishing the way she’d look away as soon as I caught her.
Every time she shot out some snotty insult or made a face at me, I nearly laughed, because she was going to be a fucking prize when I finally got her.
But I never pushed too hard. I never really tried. Wanting her was an addiction, and that was why I’d never made my move. I wanted her in my head more than I wanted her in my bed. I never wanted the chase to end.
Until I’d had a taste of her in the weight room. Then everything left my control.
“Are you serious?” she screamed, loud enough to hear over the party music.
I stood outside, leaning on my car with a group of people around me including Madoc and Fallon as we watched the two cops confront her about the noise as they all stood in the doorway of Tate’s house.
I grinned, and everyone started laughing around me as she stormed past the cops in her cute little pajama shorts, short T-shirt that showed a sliver of her stomach, and bare feet.
Her arms swung back and forth as she stomped right toward us, growling the whole time. “Keeping me up for hours with your racket, and you file a noise complaint on me?” she shouted. “I’m going to make you hurt, Jaxon Trent!”
My chest shook with laughter. Damn, she’s so cute when she acts like she’s five.
She rushed up, straight toward me, swung her hand back, and I ducked just as she was about to slap me. Crashing myself into her thighs, I hauled her off her feet and swung her over my shoulder, her ass rubbing against my cheek.
“Whoa, Tiger,” I chided, rubbing the back of her thigh.
She kicked her legs. “Put me down!”
I tightened my grip around her knees and looked at the cops. “Thanks, guys. I’ll take it from here.” And I jerked my chin, letting them know they could leave.
“Seriously abusing our friendship here, Jax,” Wyatt, one of the officers, grumbled as he walked away with his partner.
“Put me down!” She slapped my T-shirt-clad back and I grunted, struggling to hold her as she thrashed.
Turning around, I walked up the steps and into the house, the tremors of the music pulsing through my feet and up my legs as we walked in the door.
“Listen up!” I called out, ignoring her shrieks. “This is K.C. She’s queen of the castle tonight. She tells you to fuck off, you fuck off. Got it?”
I didn’t wait for responses as I swung K.C. back over my shoulder, plopping her on her feet again. Before she even had a chance to react, I circled her neck with my arm and yanked her in close, nose to nose.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” I said, and reached over to yank a Seagram’s Jamaican Me Happy wine cooler out of the tub of ice by the door. Twisting off the cap, I shoved it into her chest and turned to Fallon and Shane, having noticed that everyone had trailed in behind us.
“Fallon and K.C. You remember each other, right?” And I looked at K.C., hooding my eyes in a warning as I spoke to Fallon and Shane. “Get her drunk, ladies. But don’t let her take any drinks from anyone other than you, Madoc, or me, okay?” I smirked at K.C.’s narrowed eyes and mouth hanging open. “Have fun,” I whispered to her, and walked away.
Even though I knew she was pissed at me, I also knew she’d stay. Fallon and Shane were there to hold her hand if need be, and it just so happened that I had just planted her favorite alcoholic beverage in her grasp.
And even though I barely ever got wasted, I was very interested in seeing her get a little loose tonight. Maybe she’d finish what she had been doing to me in the car last week.
When Shane had finally trailed over a couple of hours ago, she mentioned K.C. being upset about seeing her mother, something about journals she wasn’t able to get back, so I decided to lure her out. Every time she called to file a noise complaint, I got word of it and jacked up the music more.
Now here she was, friends at her side, drink in her hand, and—I looked over as she and the girls plopped down on the couch—a smile on her face.
Score. God, I’m good.