I did a quick inventory of my feelings, but I needed more than a handful of seconds to figure out how I was feeling. I wanted to see Patch—I would always want to—but that wasn’t the question. I needed to determine if I was up to seeing him. Could I handle seeing him with Marcie? Especially after everything he’d told me last night?
“I’ll think about it,” I told Scott, realizing I was taking too long to answer.
“Need me to swing by at ten and pick you up?”
“No. If I go, Vee can give me a ride.” I pointed toward the kitchen doors. “Listen, I need to get back to work.”
“Hope to see you,” he said, shooting me one final grin before departing.
At closing, I found Vee idling in the parking lot. “Thanks for the pickup,” I told her, dropping into shotgun. My legs ached from all the standing, and my ears still rang with the conversation and loud laughter of a packed restaurant—not to mention all the times the cooks and waitresses had shouted corrections at me. I’d carried out at least two wrong orders, and more than once, I’d entered the kitchen through the wrong door. Both times, I’d nearly knocked over a waitress up to her arms in plates. The good news was, I had thirty dollars in tips folded inside my pocket. After I’d paid off my ticket, all my tips would go toward the Cabriolet. I longed for the day when I wouldn’t have to rely on Vee to haul me around.
But not quite as much as I longed for the day when I’d have forgotten Patch.
Vee grinned. “This ain’t no free service. All these rides are actually IOUs that will come back to haunt you.”
“I’m serious, Vee. You’re the best friend in the whole world. The bestest.”
“Aw, maybe we should commemorate this Hallmark moment and swing by Skippy’s for ice cream. I could use some ice cream. Actually, I could really use some MSG. Nothing makes me happy quite like a boatload of freshly fried fast food, smothered in good old-fashioned MSG.”
“Rain check?” I asked. “I got invited to hang out at Delphic Beach tonight. You’re more than welcome to come,” I added quickly. I wasn’t at all sure I’d made the best decision when I’d made up my mind to go tonight. Why was I putting myself through the torture of seeing Patch again? I knew it was because I wanted him close, even if close wasn’t close enough. A stronger, braver person would cut all ties and walk away. A stronger person wouldn’t beat her fists against fate’s door. Patch was out of my life for good. I knew I needed to accept it, but there was a big difference between knowing and doing.
“Who all’s going?” Vee asked.
“Scott and a few other people from school.” No need to mention Marcie and get an instant veto. I had a feeling I could use Vee’s support tonight.
“Think I’ll curl up with Rixon and watch a movie instead. I can ask if he’s got any other friends he can hook you up with. We could do a double-date thing. Eat popcorn, tell jokes, make out.”
“Pass.” I didn’t want someone else. I wanted Patch.
By the time Vee rolled into Delphic Beach’s parking lot, the sky was tar black. High-power lights that reminded me of those on CHS’s football field beamed down on the whitewashed wood structures housing the carousel, arcade, and mini golf, causing a halo to hover over the spot. There was no electricity farther down the beach, or in the surrounding fields, making it the one bright spot on the coast for miles. By this time of night I didn’t expect to find anyone buying hamburgers or playing air hockey, and I signaled for Vee to pull over near the path of railroad ties cutting down to the water.
I swung out of the car and mouthed a good-bye. Vee waved in response, her cell pressed to her ear as she and Rixon worked out the details of where they’d meet up.
The air still held the earlier heat of the sun and was filled with the sounds of everything from the distant music carrying down from Delphic Seaport Amusement Park high on the cliffs, to surf drumming the sand. I parted the ridge of sea grass that ran parallel to the coast like a fence, jogged down the slope, and walked the thin ribbon of dry sand that was just out of reach of high tide.
I passed small groups of people still playing in the water, jumping waves and hurling driftwood into the darkness of the ocean, even though the lifeguards were long gone. I kept my eyes out for Patch, Scott, Marcie, or anyone else I recognized. Up ahead, the orange flames of a bonfire winked and flitted in the darkness. I pulled out my cell and dialed Scott.
“Yo.”
“I made it,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Just south of the bonfire. You?”
“Just north of it.”
“I’ll find you.”
Two minutes later, Scott plopped down in the sand beside me. “You going to hang out on the fringe all night?” he asked me. His breath held the tang of alcohol.
“I’m not a big fan of ninety percent of the people at this party.”
He nodded, understanding, and held out a steel thermos. “I don’t have germs, scout’s honor. Have as much as you like.”
I leaned over just far enough to smell the contents of the thermos. Immediately I drew back, feeling fumes burn down the back of my throat. “What is it?” I choked. “Motor oil?”
“My secret recipe. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“No need. I’m pretty sure taking a drink would get the same result.”
Scott eased back, elbows in the sand. He’d changed into a Metallica T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. I was wearing my work uniform, minus the newsboy cap, vest, and pintuck shirt. Luckily, I’d slipped a camisole on before heading out to work, but I had nothing to replace the tweed slacks.
“So tell me, Grey. What are you doing here? I gotta tell you, I thought you’d turn me down for next week’s homework.”
I leaned back in the sand beside him and slanted a look in his direction. “The jerk act is starting to get old. So I’m lame. So what?”
He grinned. “I like lame. Lame is going to help me pass my junior year. Particularly English.”
Oh boy. “If that was a question, the answer is no, I will not write your English papers.”
“That’s what you think. I haven’t started working the Scott Charm yet.”
I snorted laughter, and his grin deepened. He said, “What? Don’t believe me?”
“I don’t believe you and the word ‘charm’ belong in the same sentence.”
“No girl can resist the Charm. I’m telling you, they go wild for it. Here are the basics: I’m drunk twenty-four/seven, I can’t hold a job, can’t pass basic math, and I spend my days playing video games and passing out.”
I flung my head back, feeling my shoulders shake as I laughed. I was beginning to think I liked the drunk version of Scott better than the sober one. Who would have figured Scott for self-deprecating?
“Quit drooling,” Scott said, playfully tipping my chip up. “It’s going to go to my head.”
I gave him a relaxed smile. “You drive a Mustang. That should give you ten points at least.”
“Awesome. Ten points. All I need is another two hundred to get out of the red zone.”
“Why don’t you quit drinking?” I suggested.
“Quit? You kidding? My life sucks when I’m only half-aware of it. If I quit drinking and saw what it’s really like, I’d probably jump off a bridge.”
We were quiet a moment.
“When I’m wasted, I can almost forget who I am,” he said, his smile fading slightly. “I know I’m still there, but only barely. It’s a good place to be.” He tipped back the thermos, eyes on the dark sea straight ahead.
“Yeah, well, my life isn’t so great either.”
“Your dad?” he guessed, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“Which almost makes it worse.”
“How so?”
“If it were my fault, that would imply I messed up. I’d blame myself for a long time, but maybe eventually I could move on. Right now I’m stuck, facing down the same question: Why m
y dad?”
“Fair enough,” Scott said.
A soft rain started to fall. Summer rain, with big warm drops splattering everywhere.
“What the hell?” I heard Marcie demand from farther down the beach, near the bonfire. I studied the outlines of bodies as people began shuffling to their feet. Patch wasn’t among them.
“My apartment, everyone!” Scott hollered out, jumping to his feet with a flourish. He staggered sideways, barely hanging on to his balance. “Seventy-two Deacon Road, apartment thirty-two. Doors are unlocked. Plenty of beer in the fridge. Oh, and did I mention my mom’s at Bunco all night?”
A cheer went up, and everyone grabbed their shoes and other discarded clothing items and hiked up the sand toward the parking lot.
Scott nudged my thigh with his flip-flop. “Need a ride? C’mon, I’ll even let you drive.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m done.” Patch wasn’t here. He was the sole reason I’d come, and suddenly the night felt not only like a letdown, but a waste as well. I should have been relieved at not having to see Patch and Marcie together, but I mostly felt disappointed, lonely, and full of regret. And exhausted. The only thing on my mind was crawling into bed and putting an end to this day as soon as possible.
“Friends don’t let friends drive drunk,” Scott coaxed.
“Are you trying to appeal to my conscience?”
He dangled the keys in front of me. “How can you turn down a once-in-a-lifetime chance to drive the ’Stang?”
I got to my feet and brushed sand off the seat of my pants. “How about you sell me the ’Stang for thirty dollars? I can even pay cash.”
He laughed, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “Drunk, but not that drunk, Grey.”
CHAPTER 14
ONCE BACK INSIDE COLDWATER’S CITY LIMITS, I drove the Mustang across town and took Beech to Deacon. The rain continued to patter down in a somber drizzle. The road was narrow and winding, evergreen trees crowding right up to the edge of the pavement. Around the next bend, Scott pointed to a complex of Cape Cod–style apartments with tiny balconies and gray shingles. There was a run-down tennis court on the small lawn out front. The whole place looked like it could use a fresh coat of paint.
I angled the Mustang into a parking space.
“Thanks for the ride,” Scott said, draping his arm on the back of my seat. His eyes were glassy, his smile hitched up lazily on one side.
“Can you make it inside?” I asked.
“I don’t want to go inside,” he slurred. “The carpet smells like dog urine and the bathroom ceiling has mold. I want to stay out here, with you.”
Because you’re drunk. “I have to get home. It’s late, and I still haven’t called my mom today. She’s going to freak out if I don’t check in soon.” I reached across him and pushed open the passenger door.
As I did, he coiled a lock of my hair around his finger. “Pretty.”
I unwound the curl. “This isn’t going to happen. You’re drunk.”
He grinned. “Just a little.”
“You’re not going to remember this tomorrow.”
“I thought we had a bonding moment back at the beach.”
“We did. And that’s as far as our bond is going. I’m serious. I’m kicking you out. Go inside.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll take it home tonight, then bring it by tomorrow afternoon.”
Scott exhaled contentedly and relaxed deeper into his seat. “I want to go inside and chill solo with Jimi Hendrix. Would you tell everyone the party’s over?”
I rolled my eyes. “You just invited sixty people over. I’m not going to go in and tell them it’s called off.”
Scott bent sideways out the door and threw up.
Ugh.
I grabbed the back of his shirt, lugged him inside the car, and gave the Mustang enough gas to roll it forward two feet. Then I engaged the foot brake and swung out. I walked around to Scott’s side and dragged him out of the car by his arms, being careful to avoid planting my foot in the contents of his emptied stomach. He flung his arm over my shoulder, and it was all I could do to keep from collapsing under his weight. “Which apartment?” I asked.
“Thirty-two. Top right.”
The top floor. Of course. Why should I expect to catch a break now?
I dragged Scott up both flights of stairs, panting hard, and staggered through the open door of his apartment, which was alive with the chaos of bodies pulsing and grinding to rap turned up so loud I could feel pieces of my brain shaking loose.
“Bedroom’s at the back,” Scott murmured in my ear.
I pushed him forward through the crowd, opened the door at the end of the hall, and dumped Scott on the bottom mattress of the bunk bed in the corner. There was a small desk in the adjacent corner, a collapsible cloth hamper, a guitar stand, and a few free weights. The walls were aged white and sparsely decorated with a movie poster for The Godfather Part III and a New England Patriots pennant.
“My room,” Scott said, catching me taking in the surroundings. He patted the mattress beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Good night, Scott.”
I started to pull the door shut when he said, “Can you get me a drink? Water. I got to wash this taste out of my mouth.”
I was antsy to get out of the place but couldn’t help feeling an aggravating tug of sympathy for Scott. If I left now, he’d probably wake tomorrow in a pool of his own vomit. I might as well clean him up and get him some ibuprofen.
The apartment’s tiny U-shaped kitchen looked out on the living-room-turned-dance floor, and after squeezing through the packed-in bodies blocking the kitchen’s entrance, I opened and closed cabinets, hunting for a glass. I found a stack of white plastic cups above the sink, flipped on the tap, and held a cup under the faucet. As I was turning to carry the water back to Scott, my heart jumped. Patch stood several feet away, leaning against the cupboards opposite the refrigerator. He’d separated himself from the crowd, and his ball cap was pulled low, signaling he wasn’t interested in soliciting conversation. His stance was impatient. He glanced at his watch.
Seeing no way to avoid him, aside from climbing over the counter directly into the living room, and feeling I owed him civility—plus, weren’t we both old enough to handle this maturely?—I moistened my lips, which suddenly felt dry as sand, and walked over. “Having fun?”
The hard lines of his face softened into a smile. “I can think of at least one thing I’d rather be doing.”
If that was an innuendo, I was going to ignore it. I boosted myself onto the kitchen counter, legs dangling over the edge. “Staying the whole night?”
“If I have to stay the whole night, shoot me now.”
I spread my hands. “No gun, sorry.”
His smile was bad-boy perfection. “That’s all that’s stopping you?”
“Shooting you wouldn’t kill you,” I pointed out. “One of the downsides of being immortal.”
He nodded, a fierce smile creeping out beneath the shadow of his ball cap. “But you would if you could?”
I hesitated before answering. “I don’t hate you, Patch. Yet.”
“Hate’s not strong enough?” he guessed. “Something deeper?”
I smiled, but not enough to show teeth.
We both seemed to sense that nothing good would come of this conversation, especially not here, and Patch rescued both of us by tipping his head toward the crowd behind us. “And you? Staying long?”
I hopped down off the counter. “Nope. I’m delivering water to Scott, and mouthwash if I can find it, then I’m out of here.”
He caught my elbow. “You’d shoot me, but you’re on your way to nurse Scott’s hangover?”
“Scott didn’t break my heart.”
A couple of beats of silence fell between us, then Patch said in a low voice, “Let’s go.” The way he looked at me told me exactly what he meant. He wanted me to run away with him. To defy the archang
els. To ignore that they’d eventually find Patch.
I couldn’t think about what they’d do to him without feeling trapped in ice, cold with fear, and frozen by the sheer horror of it. Patch had never told me what hell would be like. But he knew. And the fact that he wasn’t telling me painted a very vivid, very bleak picture.
I kept my eyes nailed to the living room. “I promised Scott a glass of water.”
“You’re spending a lot of time with a guy I’d call dark, and given my standard, that’s a hard-won title.”
“Takes a dark prince to know one?”
“Glad you’ve hung on to your sense of humor, but I’m serious. Be careful.”
I nodded. “I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing.” I sidestepped Patch and edged through the gyrating bodies in the living room. I had to get away. It was too much standing close to him, feeling that wall of ice so thick and impenetrable. Knowing we both wanted something we couldn’t have, even though what we wanted stood an arm’s reach away.
I’d made it about halfway through the crowd when someone snagged the strap of my cami from behind. I turned back, expecting to find Patch ready to give me more of his opinion, or maybe, more terrifying, throwing caution to the wind to kiss me, but it was Scott, grinning lazily down at me. He brushed my hair off my face and leaned in, sealing my mouth with his. He tasted like mint mouthwash and freshly scrubbed teeth. I started to draw back, then realized, what did I care if Patch saw? I wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t already. I had just as much right to move on as he did. He was using Marcie to fill the void in his heart, and now it was my turn, with Scott.
I slid my hands up Scott’s chest and laced them behind his neck. He took the cue and pulled me in tighter, tracing his hands down the contour of my spine. So this was what it felt like to kiss someone else. While Patch was slow and practiced and took his time, Scott was playfully eager and a little sloppy. It was completely different and new … and not altogether bad.
“My room,” Scott whispered in my ear, lacing his fingers between mine and pulling me toward the hall.
Crescendo h-2 Page 19