by James, Clare
Especially when I know I could be next.
“Whoa,” Tabby says when she joins us. “What happened to the sexy sundress? Don’t get me wrong, you look like a little Goth pin up, but why the change?”
“I just figured I have all summer to be a buttoned-up goodie. Once the internship starts, it’s corporate suits and proper grown-up clothes. This might be one of my last nights as me.”
“Unless you decide to give up law and follow your passion.” Tabby nudges me. “You could wear whatever you want as a photographer, you know.”
“You sound like Foster.” I wave her off. “Plus, unless you want to support me for the next few years, I need a career with the possibility of making some real money. This poor college student bullshit is wearing on my last nerve. Not to mention, I will break some balls as an attorney and you know it. I’ll single-handedly wipe out all the pervs in this city.” I point my finger at the two of them. “You know I will.”
“No doubt,” Noah says. “But there’s always pro bono work.” He shrugs. “I’m with Tab, you are too talented to give up on the click and flash. You tell more of a story with one photo than I could ever do with an entire newspaper full of words.”
“Geez, that’s laying it on a bit thick, wouldn’t you say? Plus, like you’d ever take a position against Tab.” I grab my bag. “Now, come on, you sickening lovebirds. I need to get my drink on.”
“Well, get ready to fight off the guys tonight, Noah,” Tabby chimes in. “We’re gonna have our hands full with this little vixen. I can tell already, she’s in a mood.”
Noah laughs and we head out. The air is crisp and full of the scent of lilacs. It’s still a bit cool at night, but the days are warming, hinting at the heat and humidity ahead. We pile into Noah’s jeep. He drives, always the first to volunteer as a DD.
We start the night at a few of the house parties on campus, making appearances, before settling in at Sasha’s. It doesn’t take long before I’m restless. Drinking tequila, my brain goes into overdrive thinking about my new plan to find a hot summer romance. Unfortunately, yesterday’s afternoon with Foster continues to invade my thoughts.
Until Jenna descends.
Surrounded by her dedicated followers, Jenna stops by the bar in front of us. Tabby immediately stiffens and Noah puts his arm around her.
“If it isn’t the happy couple,” she sings, quickly dismissing Tab and me, setting her eyes on her ex.
“Jenna,” Noah says in his famous authoritative tone.
Seeing Noah now with Jenna—and the sound of his voice—brings back the memories of the accident. The way Noah was dismissing Jenna at the party.
That night, however, she was the innocent one—all she wanted was to show her brother Ben a good time. But Noah and Foster were acting like assholes and left us after an hour to find some weed and get high. They promised to be back soon, but we didn’t see them the rest of the night and we were left without a driver. Ben offered to drive Jenna’s car—I declined. I even offered to pay for the cab, but Jenna and Ben wouldn’t have it.
Ben jumped behind the wheel and Jenna took the passenger seat…they never made it home.
Ben died in a crash later that night. Part of us all died with him. I think Foster took the news just as bad as Jenna did. Somehow, she recovered, but Foster hasn’t. He was supposed to be the DD that night, but something was wrong with him even before he left. He was on edge, jumpy, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
A week later we broke up.
I’ve been trying to fix it and fix him ever since.
I glare at Jenna now for being that painful reminder. She continues posturing in front of Noah, and Tabby continues to roll her eyes. After an incredibly awkward few minutes, Noah finally sends Jenna on her way. And then plants a kiss on Tab in the most PDA-way.
I make gagging noises.
They don’t seem to notice.
I push all thoughts of Foster out of my head. No more, I say to myself in a little pep talk. I’m done with it. This is my summer. A new fresh start. I just hope Tabby’s right…that I’ll have someone to wear my new dress for very soon.
When Tab comes up for air, The Killers are blaring from the speakers. Tabby grins and pulls me onto the dance floor. Reluctantly, I follow. It takes all my concentration to keep up with that girl. She can move. A few guys approach us, but are quickly warned off by Noah’s death glare from the other side of the floor.
The tequila begins taking effect, and after three more songs, I’m glistening with sweat and floating on my buzz. So this is what fun feels like. After freshman year, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel it again.
One song bleeds into the next and we don’t let up. But soon I feel cramped and crowded. Dancers multiply as the “Harlem Shake” rings through the bar. A swarm of people flood to the dance floor.
Damn commercial shit!
I move to leave until Tab’s hand clamps on mine. “Don’t you dare, J. You promised you’d dance with me.”
“Yes, but I didn’t agree to become part of a YouTube video. We may as well start dancing to the ‘Macarena.’”
“That’s later,” she says. “Don’t harsh my buzz. Now come on, it’ll be fun. Just follow me.”
Tabby starts the craziest conga line I’ve ever seen. The place goes nuts. Clothes fly off, people dance on the bar, and men and women get dangerously close to us, grinding in our line. A guy dances by us wearing an Obama mask. A girl does the running man in a pair of giant sunglasses. Another small guy rides around on the back of a larger gal, slapping her butt like she’s a horse. It’s insane. I think they have the song on a loop because it seems to go one forever.
By the time the song finally ends, Tab and I are laughing so hard we can hardly breathe. Noah is at the bar, ready to reward our performance with ice-cold pints of beer. I have never tasted anything so good in my life.
“Well, that was,” Noah starts to say. “I don’t know what that was.”
“Super fun,” Tabby answers.
“It was super something.” He shakes his head. “Intense, maybe?”
“Aw, shit,” I say, noticing a rip in my tights. “See, this is why I prefer to hang at the bar and do shots instead of dance. Much safer for my wardrobe.”
Suddenly, I’m in the air and just as quickly, I’m plunked down on bar stool. In front of me is a guy who looks like a real-life Viking. I’m serious, he looks Eric from True Blood.
He levels a stare at me.
“What the hell?” I ask him.
“Heard about your tights situation,” he says. “I think I can help.”
“Really?” I roll my eyes playfully, not wanting to let this one get away just yet. Maybe I could be his Sookie.
This night just got a little more interesting.
“Hmm.” He scrunches up his face in the cutest way. “Looks like we have two choices.”
“We?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m here on official duty. “
I raise my brows at him.
“Fashion police.”
“Are you serious with that line?” I ask.
“Well, I was before that response.” He chuckles and goosies rise up the back of my neck. “So, as I was saying, before I was rudely insulted. You can take off the tights, or we can go with the rock-and-roll thing you have going on and rip the other side.”
“I’ll tell you this much, I’m not taking off my tights.”
“Why not?”
“Because my legs are the shade of…that.” I point to a guy’s shirt that looks fluorescent white under the dark lights of the dance floor.
“I think that sounds lovely, but if you insist.” He snags my leg, pulls my tights away from my skin, punches a hole in them and rips.
I’m overwhelmed by my senses. Shock—at what he just did. Cool—from the air hitting my leg. And hot—from his scorching fingers on my bare skin. I laugh hysterically, I can’t help myself. This night couldn’t get stranger.
Famous last words.
“There,” he says, still holding my leg in one of his enormous hands. “Better. Now what’s your name?”
“It’s—”
But I never get the chance to answer because my Viking is soon pushed up against the wall, with blood trailing down his lip.
Noah is up in a second trying to pull off the assailant.
Tabby screams, but the guy doesn’t let go. The Viking is held firm in two fists.
Foster’s.
Oh shit! The boy is back.
Chapter 8
Foster
I spot Jules immediately. The good news is she’s not wearing the sundress I wanted to peel her out of during her impromptu fashion show. The bad news is—it’s worse. Much worse.
Jules has on a minuscule black skirt with boots, torn tights, and a silvery almost see-through top that barely conceals some kind of lingerie.
She is a miniature version of Dita Von Teese, screaming sex.
Some guy has his hands all over her legs…tearing her tights.
What the fuck?
The blood rushes to my head and all these images flash in my head. Jules in the hospital, the burns, the tears, the pain. The next few minutes are a blur as my hands take care of business. I’m not known for my restraint, especially where Jules is concerned. I haven’t had that luxury.
“Dude, let go,” Noah says in his usual calm but authoritative tone. He’s had to intervene on my behalf more than once.
I don’t loosen my grip. What the hell is Noah thinking anyway, letting some random guy handle her like that? Ripping her clothes off in public, like it doesn’t matter.
I shake away the image, unable to process what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been here to intervene.
“Foster,” Jules shrieks. “What the fuck, you lunatic. Let him go!”
Is she serious? Let this motherfucker go? I don’t think so.
She reaches out to him.
Him!
“What the hell do you think you were doing, ripping her clothes like that?”
“It’s not what you think, pal,” he says, spitting blood on the floor.
The throbbing in my head is so strong I can barely make out what he’s saying. In fact, I really don’t give a shit what he’s saying. I bring back a fist to release in his face once again.
This time he falls, with Jules’ hand locked in his.
He brings her down with him.
Then it’s her scream ringing in my ears.
Chapter 9
Jules
“Oh my God,” Tabby screams. “Her hand. Her hand.”
I’m buried under an overturned table and wet from the drinks that have been flying. I can’t quite process the scene because a sharp, splitting pain is shooting up my arm. My hand and wrist feel like they’re no longer connected. With my good hand, I grasp the fabric of my shirt near my elbow and drag my arm back to my chest. But when I do, my hand flops the other way.
The. Wrong. Way.
My head goes light.
And I fade away…
Chapter 10
Foster
I push the idiot off me just in time to see Jules pass out. The motherfucker held on to her as he fell. All his weight crashed down on her little hand. I quickly grab some towels off the bar and wrap it around her clearly broken wrist, before fashioning a splint—just as I’ve seen my Mom do with Tristan all those times he took a spill on his skateboard.
I pick her up and Noah is right there in my face. Of course he is.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the meathead as he tries to get up. I quickly turn and kick him back to a heap on the ground where he belongs.
“Put her down, Foster,” Noah yells at me, signaling to Jules in my arms. “Christ, you’ve done enough.”
I give him a warning growl and his eyes grow wide and he takes a step back. Nothing is going to stop me until I get Jules to the hospital.
“Take me to your car so we can get her to the hospital,” I yell back. “I can’t take her on the bike in this condition.”
Noah nods and leads us out of the bar.
“Call me when you get there,” Charlie the bartender yells to us. He’s an old friend and probably the only reason I’m not in some bouncer’s headlock right now.
“We will,” Tabby calls back. She’s glued to my side with her hand stroking Jules’ head. I’ve never been so thankful for somebody in my life. Jules deserves twenty Tabs in her life, but this one will definitely do.
Noah leads us to his jeep in the street, opening the door to the backseat. I slide in, never letting Jules move from my chest.
“We’ll go to HCMC,” Noah says.
“No,” I argue. “Not that shithole. That’s where they take all gangbangers when they’re shot.”
“Yes,” Noah has to have a comment for everything. “It’s because they have the best trauma ward in the city. They are also fully staffed this time of night. If we go somewhere else, we might get some hack and her hand looks pretty bad.”
“Fuck,” I say under my breath.
“It’s not your fault, Foster.” Tabby leans over the backseat. “That guy did come on awfully strong.”
“I didn’t have to hit him,” I tell her.
“No, but I know why you did.” Tabby hiccups now, clearly drunk. “And he’s the one who took the pussy way out, grabbing Jules’ hand like that.”
I stifle a giggle, shocked that Tabby just called someone a pussy.
“You’re right,” Noah says to Tab. “I should’ve stopped him before he started pawing Jules.”
“No,” Tabby shakes her head. “We’re big girls, guys. It’s our job to take care of ourselves and each other. So stop the caveman act. Jules is going to be just fine, there are orthopedic surgeons who specialize in this kind of thing, right? She’s going to be good as new.”
But then Tabby’s tears start to flow.
A new accident, but once again, everyone is taking on the guilt.
Jules stirs and lets out a whimper that nearly breaks my heart. I can’t say a word.
Tabby leans over to place her hand on Jules’ cheek. “You broke your hand, hon. We’re taking you to the hospital now. Only a few more minutes and then we’ll get you the best pain meds known to man. Just a few more minutes, I promise.”
Jules nods and bites on my shirt. Even now, she is the toughest person I know. Biting down on her pain and hiding it from everyone.
“I know, baby,” I whisper in her hair. “I know.”
Noah drops us at the ER and I carry her in, resting in a chair while Tabby checks us in. It only takes a few minutes before a pregnant nurse with a warm smile is at my side with a wheelchair.
“Let’s move her here,” the nurse says to me.
“Okay.” I stand and cradle Jules, lowering her into the wheelchair.
“How are you doing there, sweetheart?” The nurse bends over to look Jules in the eyes.
“Hanging in there,” Jules says with a clenched jaw. She is in so much pain. At my hands, once again.
“Nice work on the sling,” the nurse says to me with a nod. “Okay, guys. I’m going to take her now and get her arm x-rayed. Someone will come back to talk to you once we know what we’re dealing with.”
I nod and move to Jules to plant a kiss on her head. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper in her ear before the nurse rolls her away.
“One second,” Jules says to the nurse, while reaching out for me with her good hand. “Hey,” she says in her most serious and stern voice. “This is not on you. Yes, you are a Neanderthal, but this is not your fault.” She looks up to meet my eyes. “Got it?”
I nod as she rolls away from me—taking a huge piece of my heart with her.
The last time I was at the hospital was the night Jenna’s brother Ben died—the night I should’ve been driving. My stomach turns thinking about it.
Noah wanted an escape from Jenna that night. At the time, their relationship was unstable at best—as I was all too aware. And I wanted an esca
pe from the guilt I felt whenever I was near the two of them. So I ran; my typical M.O.
Ben died because I was a pussy and couldn’t face up to my shit.
After I abandoned them, Ben volunteered to drive Jenna and Jules home. He wasn’t shit-faced or anything, but he’d been drinking plenty. And it was raining.
Ben took a corner too fast. Apparently he yanked the steering wheel back the other way. It was too much; he overcorrected. They slid off the road. Hit a tree. Totaled the car.
Thank God Jules didn’t ride with them.
Ben was a good egg. He wasn’t anything like Jenna. He was a senior in high school, smart, good-looking, and a genuinely nice guy. Of course, Jenna didn’t deserve what happened either. She was hurt pretty bad. In the hospital for more than a month. Jules and I both tried to comfort her, but she didn’t want anything from us. Noah was the only person she let visit.
And after that, we all dealt in our own separate ways.
***
We wait about an hour in the ER before a doctor comes out into the waiting room. Tabby calls Jules’ mom, Karen, to fill her in. She’s on the phone almost the entire time. Karen moved to Denver last month for her job and there’s no way she can afford to come back so soon. I’m sure she’s freaking out.
“Julia Taylor’s family,” the doc calls out.
Tabby and I bolt up and almost sprint to the man. Noah runs to catch up and stands behind Tab. We look at him with grim faces and he chuckles a little.
“Stop,” he tells us. “No need to be so morose. Julia, I mean Jules, is going to be just fine.”
That’s a good sign. She must be doing somewhat okay if she already schooled the doctor on her name. Tabby and I let out a very vocal exhale and this time the doc’s laugh echoes through the room.
“Yes,” he says, patting me on the arm. “I take it you’re the boyfriend.”