We were so good together. I twisted the cap of the first tiny bottle, something clear, and I swallowed a huge gulp of coconut fire, my throat burning, my eyes tearing as I took the juice Tobey handed me and chased down the liquor.
I thought he’d been different. Different than the mistakes I had read about, the stupid decisions of his past. I’d thought, in just the way he’d looked at me, that I was healing. Fixing him. I took another bottle, Tobey unscrewing a duplicate and holding out mine, our tiny bottles clinking together, and then more was going down, another burst of bitter fire, this one golden, this one worse, both of us coughing at its end.
Tobey smiled at me, appreciation in his eyes. “Damn, Ty. I didn’t take you for a hellion.”
A hellion. I liked it, liked the look in his eyes, that wary pride. Liked the way his gaze stuck to my chest when he reached back into the minibar.
I thought we were special. Another clear bottle, and the room spun briefly, then stopped, the world back in focus, just as ugly, but Tobey tugged at the end of my hair and said something, something funny, and I laughed. He pulled my hand, leading me toward the couch, and I didn’t move, pointing back at the minibar, wanting just one more.
I was a hellion.
I was strong.
I was wild.
I could not be hurt.
I’d been falling in love. Wasn’t that how love felt? The connection that was impossible to fight? The unique tie between two souls that changed lives forever? This one didn’t burn going down my throat—it soothed, it warmed. I smiled at Tobey and realized, in an instant, how handsome he was. Rugged. He held out a soda, and I pushed it away. He pulled at the front of my shirt, and I stepped, or fell, into his arms. He pushed hair out of my eyes, and then we kissed.
Then we were on the couch.
Then he was above me.
Then everything that had once been pure, was gone.
I’d heard that it’d hurt the first time, but it didn’t. I hardly felt anything. And I didn’t, in the minutes before I stumbled back across the hall and into my own bed, think of Chase at all. I returned to my empty room, no sign of my father, my phone silent, no missed calls or texts. I hadn’t thought, in my night of recklessness, of Dad, and the possibilities of being caught. I crawled into bed and fell asleep with one bit of comfort, that he would never know what had happened.
Another dumb thought. One of so many that night.
Fuck Chase. And fuck being eighteen. So far, it sucked.
45
“Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.
“No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line. Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt. He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along. Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs. Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless. He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.
At least she was brunette. Watching Ty sleep, her hair tangled against the pillow … it’d been so soft and white. So much like Emily’s. He shouldn’t have told her the stories, memories that had made him smile, but so painful in the aftermath, once she was asleep, once the room was dark and it was just her sighs and his thoughts. Too many thoughts, especially tonight. June 21st. The night he could never forget. The night always the hardest to get through. It was no coincidence that he’d gotten a DUI three years ago today. It was no coincidence that right now, he was here, surrounded by these idiots, craving an escape. Another few lines would do it. Then he’d be able to forget.
There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.
Soon, he’d forget. Soon, the anniversary of Emily’s death would be the furthest thing from his mind.
46
I didn’t want to see Chase Stern ever again. I didn’t want to see the smooth arc of his body as he jumped for a catch. I didn’t want to see the hug of his ass in baseball pants, the muscles beneath his uniform when he lifted his hands to adjust his hat. I didn’t want to see the twitch of his smile when his eyes met mine.
When he came on deck, I stayed in place, his slow and lazy climb passing up the steps to my left. I held my breath as he passed, my chin resting on my crossed forearms, my eyes stuck on Rodgers, who took a step off second. Chase stopped in the dirt before me, right in my line of vision, his practice swings slow and perfect. I straightened, my irritated huff subdued as I moved left, leaning against the dugout wall.
“Grab me a new bat?” My eyes flicked to him, dropping to the bat he held out.