I nod. “Ava Callahan.”
“Right, right. We’ve met before. Come on, give me a hug.” I do as he says, and we hug it out. “I’ve had a few drinks so I’m feeling extra loving tonight.”
“Oooh where are the drinks?” Ellie asks, her eyes bright thanks to the fire nearby.
“Come with me to the promised land,” he says, turning so that he’s walking toward the small cabin close by.
We fall into step behind him, me in the back of the line while Marty and Ellie chat like long lost friends. I can feel someone watching me, and I know exactly who it is. I suppose he’s stopped kissing that girl by now. I shouldn’t check.
No way should I look.
But it’s like I can’t control myself and I turn my head in Eli’s direction, lifting my gaze to find him still sitting on that tree stump. Watching me. The girl is in his lap, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her face buried against his neck. When he catches me looking, his eyes narrow and his arm tightens around her shoulders, bringing her in closer, as if he’s making a claim. Letting me know who he’s with tonight.
Then why the hell did he challenge me to come to this stupid party in the first place, if he doesn’t want to talk to me?
Huffing out an exasperated breath, I tear my gaze from his and pick up my pace, practically tripping up the rickety wooden stairs that lead to the cabin’s open front door. There are people everywhere, crowded in the house and spilling onto the porch, all of them clutching red Solo cups or beer bottles or cans. We manage to squeeze our way inside, and I grab hold of the hem of Ellie’s shirt so I don’t lose her.
Marty brings us to the kitchen, where a skinny guy is standing by the narrow counter, continuously pouring vodka and cranberry into fresh cups. As fast as he can pour it, they’re snatched up, and I wonder how long this will last.
All I know is I’m glad there’s vodka tonight. I hate beer. I don’t like drinking at all, but after what I witnessed, I need alcohol to numb my brain.
And my heart.
“This is Cory,” Marty says, waving at the party bartender. “He’s a Mustang, but we don’t hold that against him.”
Cory shoots Marty an annoyed look, but otherwise says nothing.
I study Cory for a moment. He’s vaguely familiar. “Do you play football?”
“I try. I’m on the varsity team,” Cory says with a shrug. “But I mostly sit on the bench.”
I say nothing. I don’t want to cause a scene. Hopefully Marty gets it and doesn’t say anything either.
No one needs to yell out that I’m Jake Callahan’s sister. I’m sure plenty of people recognize me. I just don’t want any trouble because of it.
“Pour us extra, Cory,” Marty says, slapping the cup he’s clutched in his hand since we first ran into him onto the kitchen counter. “I’m thirsty.”
He refills Marty’s cup, then makes a cup for Ellie and me. I take a sip, making a face when the alcohol hits the back of my throat. “God, that’s strong.”
Marty chugs from his cup. Clearly, he’s had a few already. “Tasty,” he says, smacking his lips.
We exit the cabin but don’t move too far from it, watching everyone come and go as we drink and chat. I think Marty’s glad we’re here because we’re familiar faces. Most of the people at this party I don’t recognize. They may have invited everyone on the mountain, but most of who I’m seeing don’t go to our school.
“What boy are you looking for?” Ellie asks Marty after she’s polished off her cup. Turns out she has a class with Marty this year, and they sit next to each other, so they’ve become friendly. Tonight will bond them, I’m sure.
“He’s in band.” Marty waves his hand, his cheeks turning ruddy. “You don’t know him.”
“We might know him,” Ellie says. “Come on, tell us.”
Marty tries to dodge Ellie’s questioning and I just sit back and watch, laughing every once in a while when he gets mad at her. I remember Marty usually being very quiet at school. He’s either come out of his shell senior year or the booze is making him looser.
Maybe it’s a combination of both.
“Your brother isn’t coming tonight?” Marty asks after we’ve grabbed a second round.
I glance over my shoulder toward the hill, but I can’t tell if Eli is still there or not. For all I know, he snuck off with his new skank and is fucking her right now.
Scowling into my drink, I tell myself to stop thinking like that. I can’t blame her. She doesn’t know I exist. It’s not her fault. I should blame Eli.
He’s the one I should be mad at.
“No, I don’t think Jake is coming. He doesn’t want to start any fights,” I tell Marty.
“Even after that douchebag keeps calling him out? Man.” Marty shakes his head. “He must have strong willpower. I’d want to come here just to beat that guy’s ass, and I’m the biggest wimp at our school.”
We all start laughing, even me. Though my laugh is the weakest. “Jake doesn’t seem bothered by Eli’s antics.”
Jake’s the angriest person I know—besides myself, at this very moment—and it’s surprising how unaffected he is by Eli calling him out on social media. It’s downright strange. But I don’t question it because my brother doesn’t need to get himself into any more trouble than he already has.
“Yeah Eli, that’s his name. The Mustangs’ QB, right?” When I nod, Marty continues. “He’s cute and all, but he seems like he’s a dick.”
“He’s a complete dick,” I say, holding my cup up in a cheers gesture before I take a big drink. “Hated by every Callahan in existence.”
“Ah, a family war! How glamorous. The Bennetts versus the Callahans. We have family wars too, but they mostly consist of my tia getting pissed at her son—that asshole Diego—and slapping him upside the head for all the family to see at a holiday get-together. It’s actually pretty funny,” Marty explains.
We start taking about family arguments, trying to outdo each other with crazy stories. I’m very animated, talking with my hands, my voice getting louder as I tell the story of my uncle Owen punching my dad in the face back in the day, before my parents were even married, and Owen was only fourteen. They’re eating up my every word, especially Ellie, who claims she’s never heard that story before.
I soak up their attention, embellishing some things, but other elements don’t need embellishment. My parents have done some crazy stuff. They’ve lived a full life.
I aspire to that.
Marty tells hilarious stories of his mom and her sister and how they fight like cats and dogs. The way he reenacts the scenarios has me clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard. I’m so grateful to be hanging out with him, and I even tell him so at one point.
“You’re my new best friend,” I say to Marty, just before I wrap him up in a big hug.
“Aww,” Marty says, hugging me back.
“Hey!” Ellie yells, sounding put out, but I see the big grin on her face. She doesn’t mind.
I kiss Marty’s cheek before I let him go and hug Ellie next. I’m acting so unlike myself right now. I blame my behavior on the alcohol. While I’m hanging on Ellie and telling her how much I love her, Marty gets us yet another refill, and this cup is mostly vodka.
I drink it anyway.
I’m laughing nonstop. Shit is funny. Like my life. I also have to pee something fierce. I make my way into the cabin, back through the crowd of people in the tiny, tiny structure, until I finally find the bathroom and it’s miraculously empty.
Once I finish, I wash my hands under the extremely cold trickle of mountain water and dry them on a threadbare towel that’s seen better days, then check myself out in the old, scratched up mirror.
My eyes are huge. My cheeks are flushed. Anyone who knows me—or even doesn’t know—could tell I’ve had too much to drink.
Screw it. I might as well have more.
Determination filling me, I march to the door, turn the lock and throw it open.
To find Eli Be
nnett standing there, his hands braced on the top of the doorframe, his long muscular body leaning into mine.
I take a step back, anger filling me up. Eager and beyond ready to spill out.
All over Eli.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I snap.
He lifts his brows, but otherwise appears unfazed, remaining silent. Oh and it kills me to admit this, but he looks amazing. He’s wearing a pair of black joggers and a black hoodie with a white mustang rearing up on its hind legs on the front of it, the word FOOTBALL spelled out in bold, block white letters beneath the horse. His golden-brown hair is disheveled, his jaw seems extra sharp and stupidly kissable. And his hazel eyes glitter with unfamiliar emotion as he watches me.
“Move,” I tell him, my voice full of venom, my heart cracking the longer I have to look at him.
He kissed that girl, and he knew I saw it. I can’t ever forget that. He kissed her right in front of me, as if he did it on purpose to hurt me.
Well, it worked. I’m hurt. But more than that…
I’m pissed.
“What’s got your panties in such a bunch?” he asks, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Fuck you.” I try to push past him, but he releases his hold on the door frame at the last second, slipping his arms around my waist as he guides me back into the bathroom so quickly, I barely realize it’s happening until it’s too late. He kicks the door shut as I struggle and fight against him, hitting his chest, calling him every filthy thing I can come up with.
He doesn’t say a word. Just lets me kick and scream and fight. I want him to provoke me. I want him to say something awful, so I can throw it back in his face.
But his silence is deafening and eventually, finally, I stop moving.
“You got my message from last night,” he says, his voice low, his mouth so close to my neck, I can feel his lips move when he speaks.
“Don’t touch me,” I tell him, but my protest is weak at best. I’m wrapped up in him. Surrounded by him. I hate it.
I love it.
“See that’s the problem. Whenever I get around you, I can’t help but touch you.” To prove his point, he lifts his head and skims his fingers along my hairline, gently tucking a few strands behind my ear. “I didn’t think you’d show.”
“You basically begged me to come here,” I retort.
He barks out a laugh. “There was no begging involved. I don’t stoop that low.”
“No, but you’ll stoop low enough to kiss other girls in front of me.” The moment the words leave me, I wish I could take them back. I don’t want him to know how upset witnessing his little make-out sesh made me.
“Hey, she kissed me. I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.” He grins.
Anger blinds me. I reach out, my hand poised and ready, my arm swinging. I watch it all happen as if I have no control over myself. I rear my arm back, and my palm makes direct contact with his perfect face. The sharp crack rips through the tiny bathroom, followed by my panting breaths.
“I hate you,” I tell him, my voice ragged. My heart torn in sharp, jagged edges, piercing my chest and making it ache.
He releases his hold on me, his hand going up to the red mark I left on his face and cradling it. His eyes are wide. I shocked him.
Good.
“You hit me.” He sounds incredulous.
“You hurt me,” I throw back at him. “Why did you ask me to come here only to be with another girl when I show up?”
“I honestly didn’t think you’d show.”
I throw my arms up. “Here I am! The idiot girl who knows how to decipher secret messages. The same dumb girl you string along only to fuck over. It sucks Eli. You suck.” I push past him and open the door. He lets me walk by, doesn’t even try and stop me, and I ignore the wave of disappointment that threatens to wash over me. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” I toss over my shoulder.
I leave the bathroom. He doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t say my name.
He does nothing at all.
His lack of interest is soul-crushing.
I don’t go back out front to find Marty and Ellie. Instead, I make my way through the still crowded kitchen, spotting a back door. I push it open to find a narrow wooden staircase that leads down to the yard. Beyond it is a trail that takes you to the lake. The moon is shining, the water in the distance shimmering beneath the light, and I stumble over my own feet, flopping down on the top step so hard, I swear a couple of splinters are now buried deep in my backside.
I’m too drunk and sad to care.
The tears come without notice. They’re streaming down my face, dripping off my jaw. I sniff loudly, wiping beneath my nose with the sleeve of my cute flannel shirt, not caring if I get it all snotted up. I wipe at my face and throw my head back, like the moon might dry my tears, but they keep coming.
And coming.
Minutes later, the door creaks open, then is softly shut. I don’t bother looking back. I don’t care who it is. Within seconds, I can smell him, and I know who’s there. He says nothing.
Neither do I.
He settles onto the step next to me, his gaze fixed on the lake, my gaze fixed on him. I watch him, hating that he found me. Grateful that he did. The contradictory emotions warring within me make my head hurt.
Or maybe that’s the alcohol.
“I’m not worth your tears,” he finally says, though he won’t look at me. “I won’t apologize for what happened. You did me wrong first.”
God, he’s infuriating. What is it about him that makes me want more?
I look away, staring at the lake too. “Two wrongs don’t make it right.”
Without warning, he grabs me. A yelp escapes when I feel my body lifted up in the air, and then I’m on top of him. I’m the one in his lap now, straddling him, my knees bracketing his hips, my body hovering above his. He tilts his head back, his gaze finding mine, those pretty hazel eyes glittering in the near darkness.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
I wonder what he thinks.
“You came,” he whispers, his hand sneaking up, curling around the back of my neck and bringing my head down. “And that’s all that matters.”
I lower my head to his, our gazes never straying, my breath lodged in my throat. I stare at his lips. I watch them part. His tongue sneaks out, touching the corner of his mouth, and I want to bite it off.
I’m not in the right mindset right now. Clearly.
His mouth reaches for mine, and his eyes slide closed while I watch his lips part. It feels as if every single inch of me is screaming yes!
But there’s also that one tiny part burrowed deep in my aching heart, that’s yelling oh hell no.
I go with it.
At the last second, when I feel his lips barely brush mine, I’m gone. Scrambling out of his lap, practically falling down the steps as I stumble backward before I end up at the base of them. I watch him, pride swelling within me, making my skin feel tight. He’s still sitting on the top step, glaring at me like I’ve just lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“Go to hell, Eli Bennett,” I say with a little hiccup, pushing aside the embarrassment that wants to swamp me. I’m drunk, and it shows. “I’m leaving you, and that’s what really matters,” I yell.
Right before I turn and run toward the lake.
Seventeen
Eli
Jesus, where is she going?
It takes a few seconds longer than normal for it to sink in that Ava just ran away from me. Yet again. Right before I kissed her. Right after she slapped me. I’m drunk. She’s drunk too, I think. Sober Ava would’ve never hit me.
Would she?
Ava is still running, headed straight for the line of pine trees that rim the edge of this side of the lake. I see her blonde hair shining in the moonlight. Growing smaller and smaller until she runs into the grove of trees.
And then she’s gone.
Fuck.
Rising to my fee
t, I run down the broken steps, taking them two at a time, until I land on the ground with a thud. I make my way across the grass and trails, past the other abandoned cabins that make up the majority of the old resort, trying my best to stay on the same trail Ava took.
The trees loom ahead, dark and foreboding, and I pick up speed, pretending I’m on the football field, I’ve got the ball and I need to run it into the end zone for a touchdown.
It’s like this for long minutes as I go crashing through the pines, calling out Ava’s name. I’m greeted with nothing but silence, and panic hits me hard, making my heart hurt.
What if she ran into the water? Fuck, what if she drowns?
“Ava! Where the fuck are you?” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs as I burst from the trees and end up on the sandy beach. Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees as I scan the area, looking for signs of life. I can hear the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the shore, the tangy pine of the trees hits my nose, along with the acrid scent of wood burning from the fire up by the cabin.
I can also hear the endless giggles of a drunk girl coming from somewhere to my left.
Anger rips through me as I make my way down the lakeshore, knowing that I’m drawing closer and closer to her since the giggling gets louder and louder. I eventually find her collapsed on the sand, leaning against an old log that’s probably as long as her, a giant smile on her face as I stop directly in front of her and rest my hands on my hips.
“Look at you, chasing after me,” she says, clutching herself as she keeps giggling. “Even though you know I hate you.”
“Yeah well, I hate you too.” I collapse on the sand beside her, my back against the log, which is actually softer than it looks. “I thought you might drown yourself.”
“I’m not that upset over you,” she says, her voice sharp as her gaze cuts to mine. “I’m not your Juliet.”
She so is. I’m the tortured Romeo, and she’s my equally tortured Juliet. We’re putting each other through complete misery, and all for what? So I can get a piece of ass?
It’s more than that. I know it. I just can’t…
Addicted To Him Page 14