Moonshot(25)

“Easy, Ty.” He laughed, reaching for the bottle, and I held it away, nodding to his room. “Open it.” I chugged the rest of his beer, liking the way his bleary eyes followed my throat, settling on the open neck of my jersey. My first sip of beer—it was weak and watery, cold and a little bitter. I swallowed and wanted more. Wanted to be someone different, a girl who didn’t care about Chase or our night or…

the girl, her back to me, her lips against his bare shoulder, her arm reaching around him…

Why had they been in his room? And why did he give me his room number if he was going to do that?

Tobey’s door was open, and I stepped through, the empty bottle tossed toward the trash, my feet bee-lining for the kitchen of his suite, my hand pulling at the door of his fridge. Empty. White lights illuminating clean shelves.

“What’s wrong?” Tobey was right behind me, so close that when I turned, I bumped into him, my hand pulling at the bottom of my jersey.

I tried to smile. “Got any more beer?”

“No.” His voice was wary, the response stretched out, and he stepped back slowly, my hopes of erasing this night with alcohol dimming. Then he crouched, fumbling open a cabinet, and my eyes dropped, the door open, a row of mini bottles shining from the dark depths. “But I have these.” He smirked up at me, and I stepped forward, my hand held out, mind replaying too many things.

We were so good together. I twisted the cap of the first tiny bottle, something clear, and I swallowed a huge gulp of coconut fire, my throat burning, my eyes tearing as I took the juice Tobey handed me and chased down the liquor.

I thought he’d been different. Different than the mistakes I had read about, the stupid decisions of his past. I’d thought, in just the way he’d looked at me, that I was healing. Fixing him. I took another bottle, Tobey unscrewing a duplicate and holding out mine, our tiny bottles clinking together, and then more was going down, another burst of bitter fire, this one golden, this one worse, both of us coughing at its end.

Tobey smiled at me, appreciation in his eyes. “Damn, Ty. I didn’t take you for a hellion.”

A hellion. I liked it, liked the look in his eyes, that wary pride. Liked the way his gaze stuck to my chest when he reached back into the minibar.

I thought we were special. Another clear bottle, and the room spun briefly, then stopped, the world back in focus, just as ugly, but Tobey tugged at the end of my hair and said something, something funny, and I laughed. He pulled my hand, leading me toward the couch, and I didn’t move, pointing back at the minibar, wanting just one more.

I was a hellion.

I was strong.

I was wild.

I could not be hurt.

I’d been falling in love. Wasn’t that how love felt? The connection that was impossible to fight? The unique tie between two souls that changed lives forever? This one didn’t burn going down my throat—it soothed, it warmed. I smiled at Tobey and realized, in an instant, how handsome he was. Rugged. He held out a soda, and I pushed it away. He pulled at the front of my shirt, and I stepped, or fell, into his arms. He pushed hair out of my eyes, and then we kissed.

Then we were on the couch.

Then he was above me.

Then everything that had once been pure, was gone.

I’d heard that it’d hurt the first time, but it didn’t. I hardly felt anything. And I didn’t, in the minutes before I stumbled back across the hall and into my own bed, think of Chase at all. I returned to my empty room, no sign of my father, my phone silent, no missed calls or texts. I hadn’t thought, in my night of recklessness, of Dad, and the possibilities of being caught. I crawled into bed and fell asleep with one bit of comfort, that he would never know what had happened.

Another dumb thought. One of so many that night.

Fuck Chase. And f*ck being eighteen. So far, it sucked.





45



“Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.

“No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line. Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt. He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along. Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs. Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless. He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.

At least she was brunette. Watching Ty sleep, her hair tangled against the pillow … it’d been so soft and white. So much like Emily’s. He shouldn’t have told her the stories, memories that had made him smile, but so painful in the aftermath, once she was asleep, once the room was dark and it was just her sighs and his thoughts. Too many thoughts, especially tonight. June 21st. The night he could never forget. The night always the hardest to get through. It was no coincidence that he’d gotten a DUI three years ago today. It was no coincidence that right now, he was here, surrounded by these idiots, craving an escape. Another few lines would do it. Then he’d be able to forget.

There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.