Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(18)

“It was a nice wedding present,” I say instead, and he smiles. Even with a bit of true mirth coloring his eyes, it’s really more of a smirk. “I mean, between the Vincents and the Thing …” I trail off as Victor chuckles.

“Violence and sex, I can offer you either of those things in droves,” he tells me, releasing my chin and then stepping back to flick the light. We’re plunged into darkness, but it doesn’t really matter because we live there in our souls anyway. That’s me and Vic, just two crows in a murder of black feathers and sharp beaks. “And love. Those things are infinite.”

“You’re an ass,” I sputter, because it’s all I’ve got. My cheeks are flushed and my heart pounds. “But I love you anyway.”

“Why?” Vic asks, moving through the shadows to grab something. It’s my dress, my beautiful, black wedding gown, that he takes off the hanger and brings over to me. He offers it up, but it takes me a second to grab it because I’m struggling for the right words.

“Why?” I echo. “I could ask you the same thing, you know.” I take the dress from him. It shimmers, even with just a hint of moonlight from outside. Our windows are open, and I can hear the sea saying hello and goodbye to the beach in a gentle, soothing murmur. Constant, unending, boundless.

“Copout,” Vic says, lighting up another cigarette. He’s addicted to nicotine the way I’m addicted to his attention. It might kill us one day, but we don’t care. “You know why I love you; I said as much on our wedding night, right after we got naked in the hotel room.” He points at me with the cigarette. “It’s you who owes me.”

I frown and look down at the dress.

“I have intimacy problems, Vic.”

There. Wow. I said it. I said something real, something that isn’t … angry.

“We all do,” he says, kneeling down in front of me. I look up at him, and I do my very best to hold back the tears. Why am I crying now? I’ve had much better opportunities to cry. Victor reaches up and cups the side of my face in a big, warm hand. His thumb plays across my lips as salty tears slide down my cheeks. “We were raised on broken glass and shattered dreams, Bernadette. We’re allowed to be fucked-up. We’re allowed to make mistakes.” He sighs and his breath feathers across my knee as he puts his forehead against my leg. “We’re also allowed to change.”

I reach into the pocket of the dress and pull out the tube of pink lipstick. Heartless, it’s called. But even though I love the shade—Penelope would’ve really loved the shade—I am not heartless. In fact, sometimes I wish I had less heart, because then things wouldn’t hurt so damn much. The next thing I pull out is the list, that ugly, crumpled envelope with all of those awful people written on it.

1. the stepdad

2. the best friend





3. the social worker


4. the ex-boyfriend

5. the principal

6. the foster brother





7. the mom


Smudges of pink lipstick obscure a few of them, but the most important one is still left.

The mom.

Because out of all people, out of all humans, she was the one who brought me into this world and then let it fuck me. Encouraged it to. Did it herself, even.

“The saddest part about all of this,” I say to Vic, studying the list I made just a few months ago. “Is that these names are on here not because I wanted to hate these people. They’re here because I loved them, or I loved the idea of who they were supposed to be.” My thumb brushes over number three as I think about Coraleigh in her bedroom down the hall. “Her job in society is to be a safety net. She was supposed to protect me, to spirit me away to somewhere better. She pretended to be my friend, Vic.” I sigh and move my thumb down to number five. Principal Vaughn is … interesting. He isn’t blameless, and he got what was coming to him, but he also called the boys for me. He called an ambulance for Ms. Keating. Is it possible for someone to search for redemption, no matter how badly they fucked up?

Not for someone like Eric Kushner. Or the Thing. But I guess that’s why they’re dead and Scott Vaughn is not. Coercing underage teenagers into making live porn videos is pretty bad, but he didn’t rape anyone that we know of.

I turn the envelope over. My vows are written there in ballpoint pen. Some of the ink is smudged, but it doesn’t matter because I can still read it. Fuck, I still know what I want to say without reading it at all. But pretending to read the words off the paper makes me feel better.

“It’s too dark for you to possibly see that,” Victor challenges, lifting his head up to look at the piece of paper. I smooth the folded edge down, so he can see the page better. Moonlight splinters across it in silver bars. I can read it well-enough.

“I don’t even need to read it to say it,” I inform him anyway, my hands shaking. Being vulnerable is not my thing. Vulnerability has never served me well. I let myself be vulnerable with Penelope, and she’s dead. I let myself be vulnerable with Aaron, and he left me. Big exhale. “Can you do yours again?” I ask and Vic laughs. He nuzzles his face against my knee, and I let out a small sigh of relief.

He’ll do it; I know he will.

“Sure, but you gotta put the dress back on.” He stands up, looming over me in a way that I can only describe as protective. Vic, despite his dickish demeanor, wants to take care of me. That much, I do know.