by Nicky James
“Still don’t.” More silence. “I miss you sometimes, you know.”
Harley sighed, and it was that frustrating, irritating noise I knew all too well. “Yeah, well, don’t. They were your rules, Denver. Not mine. Shianne’s been out of the picture for years. I waited for you to change your mind, but you never did. As for the kid, I don’t know what to say. Part of me is jealous, not gonna lie. Part of me wants to fucking lay into you and tell you to keep your fucking hands off him, but…”
When he didn’t finish his thought, I urged. “But what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Except it did. Twenty years hadn’t dulled the ache in my chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe Edison was nothing more than a fleeting reminder of the past. A way for me to relive something I’d destroyed for the greater good.
“He needs his dad, not an uncle who can’t tell him no.”
“I’ve never been very good at the father thing, and you know it. What Eddy needs is someone who can ground him so he doesn’t end up like me. He’s too wild and out of control. He argues and picks fights. He drinks and probably does any number of drugs. He’s going to end up in jail or worse. Maybe he’ll end up dead.” Harley chuckled, but it lacked humor. “Fuck, maybe he’ll get some girl pregnant and end up like me. I don’t know what to do with him. All we do is fight. I don’t know what he wants, but it sure as hell ain’t a father.”
I heard the shower run down the hall and glanced at the time. It was nearing ten in the morning. I had work to do, but it had been a long time since I’d had a conversation about the past with my brother. He was right. I was the one who’d erected walls. I was the one who’d stopped everything.
When Shianne and Harley had divorced five years ago, I’d considered revisiting the past, but I knew it was best to let it go. For Harley’s sake. For Edison’s.
But the past wouldn’t stay buried.
And it was Edison yielding the shovel this time.
Chapter One
Harley
Twenty Years Earlier
I didn’t know what was worse the god-awful droning voice of my economics teacher who’d been lecturing us for the past hour and a half without a break; the chick I’d fucked at random two weeks ago who wouldn’t stop annoying me in every way possible, wondering when we could meet up again; or the fact that it was only ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning.
I’d chosen a seat at the back of the lecture hall on purpose. My eyes rarely stayed open at this hour without a truckload of coffee, but sadly, the only drinks I’d had in my dorm room were a few warm beers left over from a party the past weekend, and a quarter bottle of Smirnoff. Since I’d managed to wake up fifteen minutes before class, I hadn’t had time to hit a coffee house, and I was suffering.
I sank lower in my seat, scanning the room once before I pulled another piece of evidence from my backpack and slammed it on the small sidearm table. Corey, my companion in misery on this fine Wednesday morning and dorm room neighbor, chuckled and snagged the small, folded piece of notebook paper, unfolding it.
“That’s six. Six annoying messages. Mwah-ha-ha-ha.” He’d started mimicking the Count from Sesame Street two notes ago. “How many more you got in there? This is nuts.”
“Fuck my life, right? Dude, read it.”
Corey cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a whisper, checking to ensure he wasn’t drawing attention from the professor down front before he affected a higher-pitched tone and read the last handwritten note I’d handed him in his best possible girl voice. “Marissa wants us to double date this weekend. Dinner and movies. Say you’ll come.” Then he made kissy noises in place of the long string of x’s that followed.
“Why does this always happen to me?”
“I told you not to pick her, man. I told you she was trouble. You could have fucked anyone at that party. Any-fucking-one. Shianne is one of those kinds of girls. You fuck her, and she automatically thinks you’re dating. She can’t divide the two.”
“I’ve told her twice since that night that we aren’t dating. Twice. Both times, she attacked me in the food court.”
“And?”
“And she’s planning our fucking wedding. Jesus. I’m too tired for this shit, and this class is hurting my brain. Economics sucks.”
Corey left the last note beside the others on the little table and slumped down in his chair beside me. “Every class sucks, man.”
“It needs to be Friday.”
“Agreed.” Corey shot upright in his seat without warning and smacked me on the arm. “Oh, that reminds me.” A few students shuffled and glared at him before turning back to the lecture. “I forgot to tell you. Do you have anything going on this weekend?”
“No. Why?”
More alert, Corey wrenched his backpack onto his lap and rooted through it until he unveiled a folded, somewhat crumpled paper and handed it to me. “Do you remember that guy, Ramon, who we met at Benny Anderson’s party a few weeks back?”
“Ramon?” I dug through my cloudy memory bank, fighting sleepiness and the fuzzy remains of yet another wild party adventure. My weekends were often a blur of drinking, partying, and fucking. It was the best part of college. “Remind me?”
“Big guy. Kept calling the party lame and saying those people didn’t know the definition of fun.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, yeah. I remember him. Whined about all the chicks being too uptight or some shit. Why?”
Corey tapped the paper I hadn’t opened. “Exclusive invite, man. He’s having some epic party this weekend. The guy’s parents own some farmhouse outside of town. They’re going away, and he’s doing this. He’s being super selective about who he’s allowing to come. He’s in my English class, and we got to chatting yesterday.” Corey flicked the paper. “He said if I knew people who could be on board with what he’s planning, I should send them to him.”
I glanced at the paper. It didn’t provide much information. A huge banner splashed across the front labeled it as Invite Only. It gave me a date and a phone number. Contact for screening purposes, it read. There was also a serious entry fee.
“A hundred and fifty fucking bucks a head? Are you shitting me? I ain’t got that kind of money kicking around. What the hell’s so special about this fucking party that it costs a hundred and fifty bucks?”
I shoved the paper back at Corey and swiped a hand over my face, doing all I could to dislodge the sludge surrounding my brain.
Corey leaned closer and lowered his voice. “It’s supposed to be wild, man. We’re talking drinking, a buffet of all kinds of drugs, and all the fucking ass or pussy you can handle. Everything. No limitations. Nothing like the lame-ass events here on campus. It’s in the country, and it’s supposed to be wicked. He’s asking a fee because he’s providing.” Corey cocked a brow, underlining that statement. “He’s not letting just anyone in either. He’s doing all the screening personally, and he’s hiring a door guy so no one slips in uninvited. If you want to be part of it, he needs to know by tomorrow. Cash only.”
“Screening? What the fuck does that mean anyhow? Who the fuck screens for a party?”
“A guy who doesn’t want the wrong kind of people present who might make problems. Hence the exclusive invite. Think about it. Do you know how amazing this will be? First-class. Orgies. Coke. X. All of it. Any of it. Dude, this is epic.” Corey handed me back the paper. “Take it. I already paid and talked to him. You should join me. He remembers you and said I could invite you. You wanna get your dick wet by someone who isn’t gonna care about a relationship afterward, this is where you wanna be. Guys, girls, threesomes, foursomes, tensomes, whatever your pleasure. These are the kinds of people who will do anything once they’re high enough or drunk enough.”
I studied the uninformative paper again and nodded. It sounded like a fucking thrill and a half. My balls grew tight at the thought. But a hundred fifty bucks was a lot, especially when I could buy a case of beer or a twenty-sixer for less than thirty. “Let me see
what I can do about the money. My parents railroaded me last time I asked for extra cash for groceries.”
“Figure it out. Don’t leave me hanging.”
I rolled ideas through my head, wondering if my twin sister, Vanya, would spot me the cash. She was on campus too, taking forensic science. Unfortunately, my sister was a goody two-shoes. She wouldn’t give me money unless she knew what it was for, and if she knew what it was for, she’d berate me then tattle to our parents, and I’d incur their wrath. Not for the first time, I’d be accused of partying too much and not studying enough. Concerns over my failing grades and piss-poor attitude would be resurrected, and it would be one more tick against me. It was a fight I wasn’t willing to have, not even for an epic and exclusive party.
That left my older brother, Denver. He was on the neighboring campus and a lot like Vanya in the sense that he worked hard and ensured my parents were always singing his praises. Unlike Vanya, he wasn’t a tattletale. Denver was my best friend and biggest advocate. No matter how many times I fucked up, he defended me and stood by my side. Growing up, he’d helped me out of more than my fair share of difficult situations.
If I was going to convince anyone to spot me money, it would be him.
* * *
Denver wasn’t in his dorm room, and so far as I knew, he didn’t have classes after four in the afternoon, so I headed for the library, figuring it was the next best place to look for him—unless he was getting food somewhere, but it was early for dinner.
I wasn’t a library person. They were too stuffy and quiet, filled with the sort of people I never hung around with—the academics, the squares, the ones who wouldn’t know a good time if it smacked them in the face.
Denver had claimed a computer stall on the second floor in a corner. I rolled my eyes when I found him, nose in a textbook, multiple tabs open on the computer screen in front of him, his thinking face on. He didn’t see me approach. When I plopped into the chair beside him, punching the power button on the monitor in the process, his expression turned from surprised to a scowl to resigned when he discovered it was me.
“I was working on something, asshole. Why’d you do that?”
“It’s break time. I bet you’ve been here for hours.”
He checked his watch and shrugged. “Only one. What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
Denver and I were opposites in a lot of ways. Still, I knew, deep down, he struggled to balance his raging desire to please our parents and do well in school with his secret longing to have fun and throw caution to the wind—the philosophy on which I lived my life.
Denver had partied with me often in the past, but getting him there was always a trick. School trumped alcohol. However, dick trumped school. If there was potential for a good fuck involved, he was easier to sway. He claimed there weren’t enough gay men on campus and that I had it way easier being bi. I told him he was delusional and needed to open his fucking eyes because I’d had plenty of encounters with men—gay and not.
“What favor?”
“I need cash for a party. Something crazy wild, and I got an exclusive invite. I can’t miss it.”
“Exclusive?” Denver’s dark brows came together. “Where? How much? Why do you need money?”
I glanced around the library, but the back section was deserted except for us. I lowered my voice regardless. “Dude, it’s the party of the century. The guy who’s having it is screening invites, and there’s gonna be drinking, drugs, and endless fucking. Everything goes. No limits. No prudes. But there’s a cover charge, and I don’t have enough money. I can’t miss this, man. Please.”
“How much?”
“One fifty.”
Denver’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious? For a party? That’s insane.”
“He’s providing. You know what I mean? He’s getting all kinds of shit. X, coke, you name it.”
“And then he’ll get busted, and anyone using at the party will end up in jail.”
I shook my head, my leg bouncing under the table with my excitement. “No way. It’s out in the country. No cops for miles. Dude, come on. I know you’ve got a stash of cash. Spot me?”
“You’ll get yourself in trouble doing this. I’ve seen you on coke. You forget to be responsible.”
I shoved his arm. “Aw, come on, Den. Don’t be a spoilsport.” I hated it when he tried to insert logic into his arguments. “It’s just a party. Why do you have to be like that?”
“Who are you going with?”
“Corey.”
“I don’t like him. How are you getting there?”
I wanted to roll my eyes and shake my brother until his stuffy attitude fell away. “Oh my god, stop. Will you spot me the money or not?”
He held my gaze, his hazel eyes intense and steady. I knew he was picking it all apart in his smart brain and deciding the best answer. I also knew he would cave because Denver hated to upset me.
Did I use it to my advantage? Sometimes.
“Fine. I’m coming with you.”
I stalled, my excitement waning. Ordinarily, I dragged my brother to all kinds of parties, insisting he relax and have fun. I’d hook him up with guys I knew were easy. But this party?
I cringed. “I’m not sure this one will be your speed.”
Denver could drink and unwind when he wanted to, but the rest of the implied entertainment was probably more than he could handle. Somehow, my brother didn’t seem like the easygoing, fuck-in-a-room-full-of-strangers type of guy.
“Don’t care. If you want the money, then I’m going with you. Someone needs to make sure you don’t OD or do anything stupid. Corey won’t care. I do.”
“You’re going to stifle my buzz and wreck my fun, aren’t you?”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“What if I want to fuck my way through the crowd or snort a few lines?”
“I don’t care about that. You know I don’t. But if you’re out of your head, you need someone watching your back.”
“Jesus.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. Partying with Denver was one thing, but being chaperoned by him was a whole level of humiliating I wasn’t willing to accept.
“Fine, but you are not going to be the DD. You’re drinking and fucking and having fun like the rest of us. If you want to hold back a bit and keep your wits about you, that’s your choice, but you aren’t going to cower in the corner, especially if I have to talk Ramon into letting you go.”
Denver showed a brief moment of discomfort, but he packed that shit away fast, knowing I’d fight him on this. “I know how to have fun.”
“I know you do. Sometimes. When you try. You know, if it wasn’t for me, you’d be best friends with your right hand, and you know it. I’m the only reason you ever get your dick sucked. You’re welcome, by the way, and this party will be no exception.”
Denver fiddled with his pen on the table. “I’m in.”
“Okay. Cool. Now I need three hundred bucks.”
Chapter Two
Denver
I glared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, working my thick brown hair into something resembling a style. It was unruly and growing longer than I liked, but Harley told me it was sexier with more length, and he knew more about this stuff than I did.
I’d been second-guessing this party ever since I’d agreed to go, which was typical. I wished I had Harley’s frivolous and free-spirited nature. He never thought twice about stuff like this. He was driven by an ingrained urge to have fun with life, consequences be damned. Sure, it meant his grades suffered, and his future in any job market was bleak, but I envied his passion and impulsiveness.
A knock sounded on my dorm room door. Since my roommate was gone, I called out for my brother to come in, figuring that was who was there.
Harley entered, a wave of spicy cologne clouding around him. Harley was nineteen to my twenty-one, and we didn’t look alike. He and Vanya took after Mom with their wheat blond hair and slightly darker brows. They both
had a warm skin tone that made them always seem slightly tanned—even in the winter—and their smoky gray eyes held a world of mischief. When they smiled, they both sported dimples.
I took after Dad; dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and thick facial hair I’d had to shave daily since I was eighteen. Harley and I were built the same. Our six feet of height trumped our sister’s. Vanya was what people called petite with her five five frame and size-two waistline. Harley had a natural runner’s body without exercise or weight training, whereas I frequented the gym to stay in shape because I tended to pack on extra pounds around the middle with ease.
Personality-wise, it amazed people we were related.
“Did you bathe in a bottle of cologne?” I cleared the tickle from my throat and waved at the air in front of me for effect.
“Whatever. Are you ready to go?” Harley scanned me once, and I waited for his approval. The pinched expression on his face told me I’d failed. “Lose the polo. Seriously, Den? A polo? Find a tight T-shirt that makes your biceps pop. You look like a preppy do-gooder, and we’ll get turned away at the door even if we are on the ‘allowed’ list.”
I didn’t argue. I shed the polo I’d spent an hour choosing and found a solid red T-shirt that went well with my dark hair.
“Are my jeans okay?” I’d chosen a newer pair but realized too late it might have been better to pick the worn ones with holes. “Never mind. I’ll change them.”
Harley chuckled. “What would you do without me?”
I’d probably never get laid, but I didn’t think his ego needed to be stroked, so I didn’t answer him.
Dressed again, I stood in front of the mirror, fighting with my hair. Harley came up behind me and used both hands to thoroughly mess it up.
“What the fuck?” I batted his hands away, scowling.
“See, now it looks good.”
I sneered at my reflection. “I spent forever styling it.”