She clambered out after him. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Can you answer the same question?” He stared at a point over her head, but when she didn’t answer, his eyes found hers. They were hard, and a little hurt. “Thought so.”
He took off for the gate. He’d just given her the chance she needed, and she hadn’t dug up the courage to tell him. She couldn’t let him walk away. Not now. “Are you even going to stay here and talk about it?”
“No.” Cameron turned to look at her over his shoulder. “I’m going to get a beer.”
With that, he disappeared through the gate, leaving her alone in the dark. For a minute, she let hurt tears rise in her eyes before getting pissed with herself. If he wanted to run off and have a beer with his friends, whatever. She’d find him before the night was over, tell him she was done, and ask Vi to drive her home later.
She shoved her way through the wrought iron gate, greeted by heavy bass pumping out of the speakers mounted on the patio. People were sprawled out on chairs, or dancing, or slipping away into the dark to hang out by the lake. There was no sign of Cameron—he’d already blended in.
“Dahling!” a girl called in a fake British accent. “You look smashing this evening.”
Faith laughed and turned. Violet was teetering on enormous black wedges, wearing a dress that could only be described as flapper chic. Fringe…so much fringe. “Oh my God, your hair!”
“You like?” Violet turned in a circle. Her hair, a shining black pixie cut with purple streaks, shone in the firelight.
“Yeah. I’m just…surprised at how much you cut off. How much did it end up being?”
“A foot,” she said proudly, dropping the Mary Poppins accent. “Donated it all to your mom’s foundation.”
Faith bent to hug her. Even in the platforms, Violet barely reached her collarbone. “I’m so proud of you.”
Violet wagged a finger at her. “You need to tell your mom to send it to a good home.”
“She already found one. It’ll make a wig for a fierce little girl with leukemia. She’s a fighter.”
“Good.” Her friend surveyed the crowd, nose wrinkled. “Where’s jackass? You dump him yet?”
“No…but we had another fight, or something like it, on the way over.” Faith wrapped her arms around her middle. “I need to tell him. I just don’t know how. I’m such a chicken.”
“You aren’t a chicken. You’re worried about how he’ll react. He usually does the dumping, and his ego’s going to take a blow. Just do me a favor and don’t stay with him because you feel bad.” A crash of metal rang out from the lakeshore, followed by an “oh, shit!” and laughter. “Damn it. I should go see what got destroyed. It better not be Dad’s bass boat, or I’m dead.”
Violet hurried into the dark, yelling, “What did you do? What. Did. You. Do?”
Faith shook her head. Whoever it was needed to run while they had a chance, otherwise, the mad pixie of Suttonville would grind them into glitter and use it to decorate her room. Laughing at the thought, she wandered into the kitchen. Trays of snacks covered every surface, and a game of beer pong had started at the table.
“Where’s Cam?” one of the guys at the table asked her. “He should play.”
She shrugged. “Not sure. I just came in.”
“Didn’t he go upstairs?” Skye Jacobs pointed through the kitchen door to the living room. “I thought I saw him.”
Probably to drink and pout alone. “Thanks.”
If he was up there, maybe this was the right time to tell him it was over. Then she could get back to the party with a clear conscience, and help Vi keep the peace so her house would still be standing by dawn.
“Faith? Um…” Skye twisted a strand of strawberry-blond hair around her finger.
She paused in the doorway. “Yes?”
Skye blanched. “It’s…nothing. Never mind.”
Frowning, Faith left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Had Cameron said something to Skye? Had he been an ass to everyone because he was upset? Or was it something else? At this point, anything was possible. Maybe he was changing into a werewolf and didn’t want anyone to see. It was a full moon tonight, after all.
The living room was empty, but she heard a thump and laughter upstairs. She climbed up slowly, dreading this conversation. How mad would he be? Would he cause a scene, or let her go? Vi was right—he didn’t take well to blows against his ego. She’d seen that during football season every time he fumbled a catch.
All the upstairs doors were closed. Faith stood in the dim hallway staring at them. How awkward was this? What if she went into the wrong one? The last thing she needed tonight was walking in on a hookup.
A male voice rumbled behind the guest bedroom door at the end of the hallway. It sounded like Cameron. And it sounded like he wasn’t alone. What was he up to?