“Hey.” A guy nodded at us as he picked up the black guitar case by the porch steps.
“Hey,” Devon said flatly. His arm slid around my waist as we walked closer to the van.
Another guy with a spiked green mohawk hopped through the open van door. “Yo, D. Good to see you, man.” He walked up to us, took Devon’s hand, and bumped Devon’s shoulder with his own. “Been a while.”
“Yeah.” Devon nodded and glanced at me. “Tori, this is Mikey.” He gestured to the short, muscular boy.
“Hi,” I said.
Aside from his colorful Mohawk, Mikey’s head was buzzed. He wore two silver hoops in his right eyebrow over amber eyes and had delicate long lashes. When he spoke, there was a slight lisp in his voice created by the large metal bar through his tongue. He played with it and the hoop around his lower lip as he and Devon talked.
“Hey, Tori.” Carter descended the porch steps.
I smiled. “Hi.”
Carter walked around me and joined the boys beside the van. I recognized Monty from the first time I’d been to Chase’s trailer; he had shaggy dark hair, a goatee, and wore thick black eyeliner. The other boy didn’t even look vaguely familiar. His dirty sand-colored hair hung in chunks down to his neck and around his thin face. Both wore black: the dark-haired boy a tight tank top like the one Mikey wore with baggy cargo pants and the other a loose T-shirt with holey black jeans. Beside them, Carter looked normal in blue jeans, an olive-green T-shirt, and sneakers.
The two boys passed a joint between them before offering it to Carter, who took it and put it to his lips. I watched as he sucked in, exhaled, and gave it back. It was the first time I’d seen Carter smoke pot. Although he’d told me he did it, I wasn’t sure I believed him. The whole scene seemed unreal. It didn’t fit my mental picture of the scrawny, socially awkward nerd.
Devon reached into his pocket. I looked at him, expecting him to produce his own joint. Instead, he pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes. He struck the pack against his palm before opening it, removing one, and placing the mostly white paper tube between his lips. His silver lighter reflected the scant rays of sun as he flipped it open and struck the flame.
“You all right, baby doll?” He used his thumb and forefinger to take the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“You look like a cat in a pack of wolves, darling,” Mikey said.
I glanced at him. “Darling” was not a word I expected to hear from his mouth. It was too Southern Country Boy for the punk rocker standing before me.
“I promise, we don’t bite,” Mikey added with a smile.
“Speak for yourself, Mikey,” a girl said.
I turned to see Claire, Lexie, and another girl lounging on the yellow and orange floral sofa beside the porch. They looked like a set of gothic clowns, dressed in slutty black clothes with brightly colored hair and mismatched lipstick.
“I bite.” Claire laughed. “Isn’t that right, Dev?”
Devon turned away, not responding to the bait. “I’m going to help the guys load the van.” He released my hand and joined the other boys.
I stood beside the porch steps and inspected my fingernails. The French manicure I’d gotten weeks before had grown out. I’d meant to get them redone, but with Devon coming back, I’d been distracted.
As soon as the boys finished loading the van, everyone piled into the vehicles. Jeremiah opted to ride in Devon’s truck. I sat between him and my boyfriend, feeling squished despite the large cab, and wishing he’d gone with anyone else.
“Cheer up, Princess.” Jeremiah touched my knee.
“I’m fine.” I brushed his hand away and scooted closer to Devon.
Devon glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road. Without changing his expression, he casually set his hand on my upper thigh. Jeremiah glared at my lap, then shifted his weight toward the door and reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt.
“Can I see your lighter, man?” Jeremiah looked across the truck as he pulled out a joint and put it to his full, rosy lips.
Furrowing his brow, Devon glanced at me before looking at Jeremiah. “Put it away.”
“Because of her?” Jeremiah gestured toward me and chuckled. “She doesn’t care. Do you, Princess?”
I cautiously shook my head.
“I do,” Devon said.
“Whatever, man.” Jeremiah dropped the joint back into his pocket.
The truck filled with awkward tension. I couldn’t wait to escape. My intestines felt like someone had tied them in knots.
“So, where you been the last couple days, Princess?” Jeremiah smiled.
“Here and there,” I answered.
“Thought maybe you got tired of ‘lightweight’ over there.” Jeremiah pointed at Devon.
“I could out drink you any day,” Devon growled.
Jeremiah laughed. “We both know better, don’t we, Princess?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shifted my weight closer to Devon.
“Is that how it is?” Jeremiah grunted.
I didn’t respond. Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest, leaned against the door, and scowled at me. My heart raced, and my chest tightened. He’s going to tell Devon. I know he is. He’s going to say something about me kissing him, and Devon will never talk to me again.
When Jeremiah opened his mouth, I panicked and said the first thing that popped into my head, “Did you know pythons live for like fifty years?”
Devon looked at me, his forehead scrunched. “What?”
“Pythons,” I said. “They live a super long time. For animals. But not as long as turtles. Turtles live like hundreds of years.”
“Okay,” Devon replied slowly, a hint of either suspicion or confusion in his voice.
“Turtles make damn good soup,” Jeremiah said.
I wrinkled my nose. “That’s gross.”
“Actually, it’s fantastic.” Jeremiah grinned.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes at him.
“So, what got you thinking about pythons?” Devon asked.
“I went to the pet store with Carter the other day to get food for his chameleon, and we stopped to look at the lizards and stuff,” I answered. “I guess he’s thinking about getting a python or something.”
“Yeah, because that’s exactly what Carter needs.” Devon chuckled.
“That little freak is so weird,” Jeremiah said.
I furrowed my brow. “Because he likes lizards? At least he doesn’t eat turtles.”
“Have you ever had turtle soup?” Jeremiah asked.
“No.” I shook my head.
“Then you can’t say much, can you?” He nodded as if his point had been proven.
“Anyhow.” I turned back to Devon. “Did I tell you I got accepted to the Philmont Summer Art Program?”
“You did?” Devon glanced at me.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“The what?” Jeremiah asked.
“It’s a two-week workshop for high school students taught by professional artists like Lilith Greer and Thad Vincent,” I answered. “I didn’t think I’d get in because they have to love your portfolio to even be considered for a spot.”
“Of course, they liked your portfolio,” Devon said. “You’ve got some awesome stuff in there.”
“Thanks.” I smiled.
Hugging Devon’s arm, I laid my head against his shoulder. Jeremiah harrumphed from my other side. I ignored him, watching through the windshield as we passed the Beaumont city limits sign.
Seventeen
Sliding the strap over his head, Devon adjusted the guitar. He plugged the cord from the amp into the side. A low strumming sound came out of the speaker when he ran his fingers over the strings. He gripped the neck of the guitar to silence it, then shifted his weight and nodded at Monty.
The thump of the kick drum alternated with the clinking sound of Monty’s drumstick on the metal pole holding the cymba
ls. Chase stood in front of the drum set, strumming his guitar four times before he turned around. As soon as he spoke the first line to the song, the low, metallic sound of electric guitars filled the room.
I kept my eyes on Devon. He looked incredibly hot with the sleek black guitar in his hands. Biting my bottom lip, I watched the muscles in his arms flex as his fingers moved over the strings. My mind drifted to later that night when those strong arms would be around me and his agile fingers would explore my curves.
“They’re good, aren’t they?” Maimy plopped down beside me on the vinyl sofa.
I glanced at her, hoping she didn’t perceive what I’d just been thinking, and nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“God, Devon looks sexy.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I wish Jake could play. There’s something about a guy with a guitar that makes me want to jump his bones. You know what I mean?”
“Well, Devon’s bones are spoken for, but I don’t care if you jump the other guys.”
Maimy laughed. “You’re funny, Princess. I didn’t mean I want to jump Devon’s bones. Sure, he’s hella fun, but I’m not into screwing another girl’s man.”
“Okay.”
“That don’t mean I won’t enjoy the view.” She leaned against my side. “You have to admit it is a great one.”
I looked at the stage and smiled. “Yeah.”
Maimy took a drink from the bottle she’d brought with her before offering it to me.
I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
She downed the rest of the beer, set the bottle on the floor, and stood. Walking over to where Jake sat in a tattered armchair, she crawled onto his lap and kissed him. His skinny arms slid around her, bony hands resting on her backside as she pressed her chest against his.
I turned away. Blood warmed my cheeks as I adjusted my weight on the sofa. The cheap vinyl squeaked. I looked around to see if anyone noticed and met Jeremiah’s chocolate-brown eyes. Unintentionally, I held his gaze too long. He smiled and walked across the room to sit beside me.
“Hey, Princess.” Jeremiah slid his arm around me. “How you doing?”
“Please, don’t.” I looked at the stage as I scooted to the front of the couch.
Distracted by a guitar riff, Devon seemed oblivious.
“I don’t get what you girls see in him,” Jeremiah said.
Furrowed brow, I turned to the enormous boy. “What?”
“He’s a moody, hotheaded asshole. And a hypocrite. He gets pissy with me about smoking a joint, then he gets lit the second we get here.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. He’s high as shit right now. Saw him take something right before he got on stage.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s high.” I scrunched my face angrily. “Look, I’m sorry that I acted like I did, but whatever you think will happen with us, isn’t, so stop doing . . . whatever this is.”
Jeremiah stared at me, fixing his big brown eyes on my blue-green ones. His fingers brushed my cheek as he moved one of my golden curls behind my ear.
“Don’t touch me.” I swatted his hand away from my face.
I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I should have kept my mouth shut and ignored him. Jeremiah drew in what might have been half the oxygen in the room before he spoke.
“What? Do you think you’re too good for me?” he growled. “You weren’t too good for me before he got back.”
“That was . . .” I shook my head, trying to shake the right words loose. “I don’t know what it was, but it will never happen again. I have a boy”—I flung my hand toward the stage and hit something—“friend.”
Turning my head, I looked up at Devon. He stood with his arms crossed in front of himself and his icy blue eyes frozen on Jeremiah.
“What’s going on?” Devon asked.
“Just talking to Princess here.” Jeremiah smirked. He laid his arm across the back of the couch, ran his fingers through my curls, and looked at Devon as if to say, “Do something about it.”
The music stopped. Devon took a step forward, closer to Jeremiah. I swept my hand around my head, gathering my hair. As I stood, a few strands caught on the silver skull ring Jeremiah wore on his right hand. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. I had to get away from him.
Setting my hand on Devon’s chest, I tried to push him back. He didn’t move.
“Devon, please.” I looked up at his face. “Ignore him. He’s just being a jerk.”
Devon kept his eyes on Jeremiah. He’d puffed up the way guys did when they were ready to fight, trying to make themselves look bigger, with his shoulders back enough to make his tight chest protrude forward and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Devon, please.” Jeremiah mocked me and chuckled. “You should listen to her, D. She’s trying to save you from getting your ass kicked.”
“Shut up, Jeremiah,” I snapped.
“Don’t worry, Princess. He ain’t going to do nothing.” Jeremiah stood, folding his arms across his chest and smiling. “He’s all show and no go.”
“Move,” Devon commanded in a low voice.
I shook my head. “No. This is my fault. I won’t let you two knock each other silly because of me.”
“Somebody’s full of themselves,” Claire said and the girls beside her giggled.
“Just let ‘em fight, Princess,” Jake added.
The room erupted with the chant, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“Didn’t realize you were so pussy whipped, D!” Monty laughed from the stage, which brought on a round of laughter from the rest of the crowd.
“Move.” Devon stepped forward, forcing me back. I put both hands on his chest and tried to push him, but he might as well have been a brick wall.
“Stop it,” I said. “This is stupid. You can’t get jealous every time I talk to another guy.”
“The way I remember it, there wasn’t much talking,” Jeremiah taunted.
I turned my head, looking at him from the corner of my eye.
“I see why you keep her around. Girl’s a fucking Hoover.” Jeremiah’s mouth formed an O and he pressed his tongue into the inside, so it pushed out his cheek.
“You are so . . .” I seethed. “You know what . . .” I removed my hands from Devon’s chest, looked up at him, and said, “Kick his ass,” before I stepped out of the way.
Devon didn’t hesitate. His fist landed on Jeremiah’s cheek. Stunned, Jeremiah took a step back before swinging his own massive punch. His knuckles smashed into Devon like a freight train hurling into a small car. The force almost knocked Devon over.
What the hell did I do?
Devon regained his balance, set his feet, and hit Jeremiah again. The onlookers roared with excitement. The girls stood on the other vinyl sofa while Jake, Carter, and the band moved closer to the fray. They chose sides, each screaming either in support or opposition. To my surprise, more of the group favored Jeremiah. From their taunts, I gathered they thought Devon should be punished for some unknown sin.
Jerks. I scowled at them.
Devon and Jeremiah became a mess of arms, each scrambling to get the better of the other. I scurried out of the way as Jeremiah shoved Devon into a metal table. Devon fell back on the tabletop. He gritted his teeth, then pushed himself to his feet and swung again, his fist meeting Jeremiah’s jaw.
Jeremiah stepped back. He turned to the side and spit blood before his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “That all you got, short stack?”
“I’m just getting started, asshole,” Devon retorted.
They smashed into each other again, trading insults along with punches. Although at a significant size disadvantage, Devon held his ground for longer than Jeremiah seemed to think he should have. The big boy panted as if he’d just run a marathon, his chest heaving and his blows decreasing in speed.
Jeremiah grabbed Devon’s shirt, trying to lift him off his feet, but only pulling Devon closer. “Fucking stuck-up asshole.” With a labored heave
, Jeremiah tossed Devon sideways.
Devon lost his footing, crashing into another table surrounded by metal chairs, and toppled to the floor with the tabletop landing across his abdomen. Before he could mask his pain, his face scrunched, and he let out a wail.
“Oh, no.” I clasped my hands to my face.
Devon pushed the table off himself and struggled to his feet. I wondered how he could stand. He looked like hell reheated in a microwave. Blood pooled in the corner of his mouth. His left eye had swollen shut. A gash adorned his brow, deep enough that I was certain he’d gained a new scar. But he wasn’t done. Wheezing, he stepped up to Jeremiah, fists clenched.
The fight continued, but it was one-sided. I wasn’t sure how Devon stayed on his feet. Jeremiah knocked him around like a weeble-wobble until Devon finally hit his knees. He doubled over and coughed, his lips red with blood.
Jeremiah raised his fist to hit Devon again.
“He’s done, man,” Chase said, grabbing Jeremiah’s bicep.
Slowly, Jeremiah lowered his hand.
Devon spit blood. He kept his left arm pinned to his side while using his right to brace himself against the floor. As soon as Jeremiah stepped away, I rushed to kneel in front of my boyfriend. He looked up and forced a pained smile to reassure me, but I wasn’t fooled.
Carter squatted beside me and put a hand on Devon’s shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Devon grumbled, his voice ragged.
His good eye flickered to the other side of the room where most of the crowd had gathered around the victor. Jeremiah downed a beer, feeling triumphant and gloating about his win. He had his own set of fresh bruises but looked far better than Devon.
“Let’s go,” Devon said.
“Okay.” I nodded.
Despite Devon’s assertion he didn’t need help, it took both Chase and Carter to get him to his feet. They helped him outside and leaned him against his truck. Out of breath, Devon took his cigarettes from his pocket. He tried to pull one out without moving his left arm. It proved difficult.
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 10