Seeing all of that is bad enough, but it isn’t what makes me want to turn around and leave. The leggy blonde draped over Poe’s lap, and shoving her big fake-looking tits at him is.
Before he notices me, his expression is one of boredom and mild annoyance. But as soon as he sees Sunday and I walk up to the group, he makes a show of sliding his arm around the blonde's waist, and pulling her into his lap, making her squeal with happiness. Staring at me over her head, his mouth twists into a cruel smirk that drives an ice pick straight into my heart. There’s a challenge in his eyes, but there’s also something else—something he can’t entirely hide, and I’m not sure what to make of. Suddenly in need of fresh air, I lean over and yell in my best friend’s ear.
“Sun, I’ll be back. I just need to not be here for a minute.” She squinches up her face in concern. “It’s fine. Really. I just need some air.” Reluctantly, she lets go of my arm, and I turn to walk back to the front door, but not before I see her notice Poe’s little show and roll her eyes while flipping him the bird.
“Do you have to be such an asshole, Halliday?”
I leave before I hear his response and thread my way through the crush of teenage bodies to the door. Stepping out onto the expansive porch, I take a few deep breaths of the cool late October night air, the band of tension squeezing my head easing slightly.
How do I manage to get myself into these things?
“Just lucky, I guess?” a raspy feminine voice replies. Not realizing I’d said anything out loud or that there was anybody else out here, I nearly jump out of my skin. The voice laughs lightly before stepping out of the shadows further down the porch. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She comes closer and leans against the railing, a long neck beer bottle hanging from the fingers of one hand. “I’m Noli.”
“Stella,” I say, taking stock of the girl beside me. Not quite my height, her icy blue eyes catch the moonlight and stand in stark contrast to her tanned skin and long dark hair streaked with magenta. Something about her feels familiar—more like my old life back in New York. “Do you go to Woodington?”
She laughs wryly.
“Yeah, no. I go to West Hythe. In Ashbrook.” At my blank look, she explains. “Two towns north of here. We’re sort of the black sheep. Like the uncouth, blue-collar cousin people around here pretend doesn’t exist until they need their car fixed or their plumbing replaced.”
“So basically, you’re normal,” I state matter of factly, and she laughs again.
“Normal is relative.” She shrugs and finishes her beer, shaking the empty bottle. “If I’m expected to put up with all of these super-rich, super-elite assholes tonight, I’m going to need another drink.” Stepping off the porch, she turns back to me. “You coming?”
Deciding that going with Noli is preferable to being back inside and watching Poe play with Boobs McGee, I follow her across the triple-wide driveway. We slip around the side of the garages to the back yard, where a small group is gathered around a blazing fire-pit. The mood among the handful of guys is as relaxed and comfortable as their plain hoodies and worn-in jeans, and they all raise their drinks in greeting when Noli introduces me.
“Want a beer?” she offers as she lifts the lid on a large cooler and reaches inside.
Remembering what happened the last time I was drinking at a Folkestone party, I politely decline, and she pulls out a single dripping bottle from the melting ice and twists the top off.
“So, what’s your story, Stella? You look pretty unjaded to be from this town.” The air has gotten colder, so we move closer to the fire. Just as I’m about to answer, I see Hali come around the corner and sidle up to one of the guys standing a little further apart from the main group. She leans in, pressing her tits against the guy’s arm, and gives him a simpering smile, oblivious to anybody watching.
“Hali fucking Torsten,” Noli says with disgust.
“I see you share my opinion of her.” I turn to her and laugh, deciding not to share the fact that she’s technically my half-sister.
“Doesn’t everybody? That girl is a walking, talking nightmare. She’s also the reigning queen of the Hum and Coke.” Nudging me with her elbow, she points my attention back to Hali and the nameless guy. I watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny plastic baggie half-full of white powder. Hali goes for it, but he holds it out of her reach, his eyebrows raised questioningly at her. She licks her lips and nods in response, a grotesquely greedy smirk sliding across her face. He hands her the baggie and, taking her by the arm, leads her off to the shadowy tree line along the edge of the property.
“What was that?” I ask, curious.
“That was the intro to the Hum and Coke.” At my blank expression, she chuckles and clarifies. “Hali has gobs of money. More than enough disposable cash to pay for her habit. At these parties though, she likes to pretend otherwise, probably for the attention. Girls like her always seem to have daddy issues.” I snort out a laugh at that.
“You truly have no idea how accurate that statement is,” I say.
“She’ll find Lex or Bodhi and arrange a trade for some coke. A hummer for a baggie. A blow for some blow.” She takes a swallow of her beer. “Tonight is Bodhi’s turn, I guess. The joke’s on her, though. Both Bodhi and Lex keep a special little baggie set aside for Hali when we come to Folkestone parties. After all the shit it’s cut with, the powder in those bags is probably only five percent coke. The rest is a little aspirin, some laxative, and a whole lot of baking powder, and the chick is too stupid to figure it out. Either that or she has figured it out and just wants to suck dick.”
I didn’t think Hali could fall any further in my esteem, and yet, she just did. My phone trills in my back pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Sunday.
“Hey, I should probably go back in. The girls I came with are looking for me.” Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I grin. “It was nice to meet you, Noli. Thanks for the company.” I start to walk away and turn around. “See you at the next party?” She smiles and lifts her beer in a cheers.
“Yep. Nice to meet you too, Stella. See you around.”
Back on the front porch, I suck in a breath and square my shoulders.
Here we go.
The party has thinned out a little, and the noise level has gone down by a decibel or two. My eyes find Sunday’s silvery hair, and I start across the room toward her. Three-quarters of the way there, I’m suddenly shoved sideways by a blonde who’s bent over and busily grinding her ass into the crotch of the guy she’s dancing with. Giving me the stink eye, she snarls at me.
“Move, bitch,” she spits. Her partner reaches forward and grabs her around her waist, pulling her fully upright.
Again with the tattoo.
Following the ornate design up his forearm, my eyes lift to meet Poe’s, and I can’t decide if I want to cry, throw up, or punch his perfect white teeth in. He arches an eyebrow at me, his eyes flat and cold, then grabs the blonde’s arm and drags her further into the crowd, her whiny complaints about him twisting her arm trailing after them.
I’m having trouble taking a breath under the crushing weight in my chest. My eyes fill with tears, and not wanting anybody in here to see me cry, I turn and push through the group of people between me and the front door. Back outside, I run for my car, the tears finally breaking free and flowing down my cheeks.
Fuck him. Fuck him and his tattoo and everything he’s ever said to me. He’s a fucking liar.
Yanking my driver’s side door open, I hold it wide for a second. Then slam it shut. Open it again. Slam it. Open. Slam. Open. Slam.
“Hey now, what did the car ever do to you?” a masculine voice asks in horror behind me.
Spinning around, I hastily wipe the tears from my eyes with my sleeve. Instantly I recognize the guy leaning against the old Mustang parked two cars over, hands in his pockets.
“Uh, Bodhi, right?” I ask, giving him a weak smile.
“Yeah. And you’re Stella. Nol
i’s new friend.” At my nod, he pushes himself off the front fender and strolls over to me. “Word of advice? Whoever he is, he’s not worth hurting this beautiful car.” Bodhi pulls a hand out and passes it smoothly over mine. “Probably not worth the tears, either.” Winking at me, he lets go of my hand and walks back toward the house. “See ya Stella.”
Turning my hand over, I see the little baggie of white powder he pressed into my palm. Closing my fist around it, I shove it deep into the pocket of my jacket and slide into the driver’s seat. I pull out my phone and send Sunday a quick text letting her know I’m not feeling well and I’m going home, then hit ‘send’ and toss the phone onto the passenger seat. I crank up the stereo and drive aimlessly for the next hour with the window down and the heater on, letting the breeze dry my tears.
Out of the blue, I know exactly where I want to be. There’s a convenience store near the marina that’s open twenty-four hours, and I pull in, stopping to grab a large, piping hot coffee, and a danish. Thanking the older man behind the counter, I jump back in the car and head to the secluded little beach Sunday showed me when we were out driving around the other day. She told me the guys thought it was theirs and that nobody else knew about it, but Payne let her in on the secret years ago, and now she was sharing it with me. Poe has his hands full back at the party, and Payne is the host, so I’m not worried about running into either of them here.
After I park, I open the trunk and dig through the emergency kit my aunt insisted I have in the car at all times. Finding the wind-up flashlight, I take that and the big wool blanket, along with my coffee and danish, and pick my way carefully down the worn path to the secluded area surrounded by driftwood.
Wrapping myself tightly in the blanket, I sit sipping my coffee in the moonlight and watching the waves roll in with the tide. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s too late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Every time I’m alone, my mind replays Stella’s reaction to finding out the truth for the hundredth time. The guilt washes over me again and drags its friends ‘loneliness’ and ‘depression’ along with it.
The past three days have been utter shit. I decided to try to ignore Stella’s presence at school and avoid her entirely outside of it. The after classes part was easy—according to Raff, she refused to be anywhere I was socially, so that situation took care of itself. Ignoring her at school though, that’s been awful. Unless I cut myself off from my friends entirely, there’s no way to physically avoid her. I’ve had to make do with pretending she’s wallpaper when she’s standing right in front of me. When she walks down the hall in my direction, I keep my face expressionless and look right through her. When we’re part of the same conversation, I don’t acknowledge her words. To put it simply, I’ve spent three days being a giant fucking asshole.
I’m not going to lie though, there’s a part of me that’s really pissed at her.
Pissed because she won’t let me try to explain.
And pissed she made me break my own rule and fall for her in the first place.
My favorite Saturday mornings usually involve a workout, a ridiculously long shower, and bacon and eggs. I manage to get the workout and the shower in, but on my way down to the kitchen, the murmur of two voices speaking in low, hushed tones catches my ear. My feet pause partway down the stairs as my father and another man come into view. Both men walk from somewhere at the back of the house toward the front door, their backs to me.
“Dad?” I call. He turns and sees me on the staircase, and there’s an odd expression on his face. One very similar to when my mother was being a bigger bitch than usual earlier this week. A creepy tension thickens the air as he hastily shakes the hand of the man he’s with and opens the front door, stepping aside to let him pass. The man stops on the front porch and pulls his coat's collar up higher around his neck and throat. He glances back over his shoulder at me, a strange and knowing grin on his lips, his eyes obscured by mirrored aviator sunglasses. Looking away, he nods once at my father and disappears out of my line of sight as the front door swings shut behind him.
My father makes every effort to appear casual and unruffled when we meet at the bottom of the stairs, and the forced behavior is making me uneasy.
“Bacon and eggs, son? I think Marisol already has the bacon started.” He claps me heartily on the back and steers me toward the kitchen while everything in me is screaming that another shitstorm is on the horizon.
Coming here tonight was not one of my better ideas. Parties at Payne’s are usually relatively low key affairs—a couple dozen kids, a keg, maybe some pot. This is absolutely not one of those parties. There must be three hundred people here, pulled in from neighboring towns and schools. Gator, the bloody mascot for San Francisco State, is in line for the bathroom in full gear, for Christ’s sake.
Already in a shitty mood, this hoard of drunk, sweaty, horny teenagers and twenty-somethings is only making me angrier and more likely to take somebody’s head off. It’s a damn sauna in here, and stupid me is sweating balls in leather pants. It would be great to be able to claim I have no idea what possessed me to wear these tonight, but that’d be a lie. They’re snug, they’re soft, and they emphasize all the right parts. In other words, they’re the perfect tool to rub Stella’s face in what she’s missing.
I’m sprawled lazily on a loveseat in the living room, one arm along the back, and my legs splayed out in front of me when a perky honey blonde with a huge rack bounces over.
Speaking of perfect tools, this one will do nicely.
She’s trying to talk to me over the noise of the crowd and the music, but I can’t hear a word. I point to my left ear and shake my head, then wait a few seconds while she clues in. I see, rather than hear, her giggle as her tits jiggle like twin Jello mountains in her skimpy tank top. Apparently assuming I’ve issued her an invitation, she plops down on the loveseat beside me. Her legs pull up beside her, and she leans in so close I could easily pop a nipple out and give it a lick.
Right then, I catch sight of the familiar raven black and silver-blonde heads weaving their way through the crowd. Stella’s eyes meet mine, and the hurt, angry, vengeful fucker in me comes out to play. A cruel smirk slides over my lips, and I slip my arm around the blonde, pulling her fully onto my lap. Her happy squeal pierces my eardrums, but the sick, horrified look on Stella’s face, that one shoots right into my heart.
Trying to maintain my practiced outward disregard for anybody but myself, I don’t shove the blonde away. Stella leans into Sunday, gesturing toward the front of the house, and Sunday flips me her middle finger when her best friend turns to go back the way they came. Strutting over to stand directly in front of me, Sunday rolls her eyes.
“Do you have to be such an asshole, Halliday?” she says contemptuously.
“Why yes, yes I do. Feel free to keep walking if you don’t like it.” Her eyes widen in surprise but then quickly narrow, and I know I’m in big shit.
Dammit, crossed a line with that one. What the hell was I thinking?
She starts to walk away from me in disgust, so I dump Fanny Funbags off my lap and go after her, feeling like a massive shitheel when I touch her arm and she jerks it away.
“Sunday, I’m sorry. I know I’m acting like a prick. Come on, please don’t walk away,” I wheedle.
“You may be like a brother to me, but I don’t want to know you right now. Lying to Stella before was inexcusable, but what you just did? That was straight-up cruel.” She cocks her head to the side slightly, an accusatory look on her face. “You’ve done some idiotic things in the past, but you’ve never been mean like that. You’d better pull your head out of your ass pretty damn fast, or you’ll lose her for good,” she starts backing away, “and right now, I’m not too fucking fond of you either.” With a mocking salute, she turns and disappears into the crowd.
Mentally flogging myself, I thread my way to the keg and cut the line. Red solo cup in hand, I take a s
ip only to have it remind me how much I hate keg party beer. Wandering aimlessly around the main floor of the Emerson house, I set my still full cup down on a side table and run my fingers through my hair miserably.
What do you do when it feels like half of you is missing? Not missing like you can never see them again, but missing in the sense that you’re forced to see them all the time, but they aren’t beside you anymore. I think that’s almost worse. That feeling of desire, of want, of a craving you can’t satisfy. Having to watch them live their life without you keeps twisting the knife a little deeper.
I need to get out of here.
Doing an about-face, I tour back through the living room and tell the guys I’m going home. None of them look remotely surprised, and for once, they don’t give me a hard time about leaving. But of course, that was too easy. As I cross the makeshift dance floor, the blonde is back, this time bending over and grinding her ass against my very flaccid, very uninterested cock. With a frustrated sigh, I reach forward and grab her around the waist with one arm, my plan to force her to stand up before I push her away. But because this is the shittiest day in the history of shitty days, there’s Stella, on her way back to Sunday and standing right in front us, the chick I’m grabbing telling her to “move, bitch”.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Yanking the blonde upright, I grit my teeth and drag her away toward the kitchen while she whines at me the entire time. The crowd in the house has thinned somewhat, so it’s a little easier for her to hear my voice when we stop near the patio doors. And I need to make sure she hears me.
Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2) Page 16