Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(77)

“How are you holding up?” Brock asks. Grabbing a chair along the way, he plants it beside mine and drops in.

I shrug and shake the leftover ice in my tumbler. “I could use another drink.” Alice is at a small table with her friends. She catches me watching her and frowns at my glass.

Brock side-eyes me. “I know you’re in a shit place right now, but getting drunk is not the answer.”

“Do you ever get tired of being perfect?” I can’t help it. The last thing I need right now is anyone giving me advice.

“Good whiskey is always the answer. As a matter of fact, I’ll join you.” Dallas walks over and does the same, grabs a chair, drags it close to ours. He turns his around and straddles it. “Let’s get trashed. I can make a couple of calls and get some Molly.”

I can’t be responsible for that. I’m responsible for too much already and I’d rather not load more guilt on my plate. “I’m not helping you off the wagon. If you wanna get wasted, find your own excuse.”

“Dude––” His brows pull down. “You’re a mean drunk.” There’s no heat to his words. Just Dallas being Dallas.

“I’m not drunk,” I grumble. And convince no one.

“You’re definitely on your way,” Brock argues.

“I know you’re going to law school next year, but could we shelve the debates for today?”

“Reagan,” my father calls from a few feet away. He’s standing next to someone I’ve never seen before. Tall, tight expression, expensive suit. Basically looks like all of my father’s acquaintances. What the hell is he doing inviting strangers to my brother’s wake?

“Care to tear yourself away from your buddies for a minute to be with your family. Dean Sullivan would like to have a word with you.”

Fucking hell. “No, I don’t care to,” I shout back. The entire room goes silent. All hundred or more people turning to watch us. None of which are here for Brian. At the edge of my vision, I see Alice stand.

My father’s blue eyes narrow. “I’m only going to ask you one more time––come here.” His jaw twitches. “And out of respect for your brother, keep your voice down.”

A molten-hot wave of rage breaks over me, turning me blind and deaf and unable to keep it all down anymore.

“Me?” I shout. “All I’ve ever had was love and respect for him. Can you say the same, Dad?” I stand, the rage demands it. “Do your friends know that you cut him out of your life, out of the family, years ago? That you haven’t seen or talked to him in three years?”

“Reagan,” my mother hisses, leaving her friends a few tables away to get in the middle of this.

“That you had him arrested for trespassing when he showed up at the house, and that you and Mom threatened to have him arrested for breaking and entering if he ever set foot on the property again?! Do they know that you don’t give a fuck that he’s dead?!”

My mother grabs my arm and I shake her off. “Outside, right now!” she orders between clenched teeth.

“Why? Am I embarrassing you?” I’m still shouting. Now that I’ve started I can’t seem to stop, years of repressed thoughts and feelings coming out at once.

“Yes.”

“Well––here’s the good news.” I raise my hands and make sure everyone is watching the show. “The junkie son is dead. Murdered for his sneakers. Sneakers I gave him”––I pound on my chest, tears burning my eyes––“and insisted he wear because I was worried about his feet. He was stabbed eighteen times for them!”

“Shit,” comes from my friends. A gasp from Alice.

“He won’t be embarrassing you anymore,” I continue. “And the one that’s still alive never wants to see either of you again.”

With that, I turn and make for the door. Ten minutes later, as I’m walking up Sunset Blvd., I hear a familiar voice call out, “Need a ride?”

I stop and take a long look at Alice in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. She’s wearing black Ray-Ban Wayfarer today. I just noticed that. The dark bangs, the sunglasses. They look cool on her. Like a girl out of the fifties. My cool girl is the only thing that looks right in my world anymore.

Taking my hands out of my pockets, I grab the roll bar of the Jeep and jump into the passenger side.

“Where to?”

My eyes drink in the sight of her. Damn, she’s beautiful. “You feel like fish tacos?”

“I could eat.” She gives me a small smile and I lean over the partition, cup her face, her skin soft and cool in my hands, and kiss her.

Words are limited. There are only so many ways you can put them together. And when it comes to Alice, I love you doesn’t seem enough.





Alice


There are times in life when silence speaks louder than words. I’m not purposely trying to avoid talking about the bombshell he dropped at the wake, but the look on Reagan’s face when he kissed me a few minutes ago said to give it time.

We drive up Pacific Coast Highway with the sun beginning its journey down, the sky turning every shade of red and orange edged in purple. By the time we pass campus and head north for Neptune’s, it’s close to sunset.

Reagan tells me to wait in the Jeep while he picks up our food. When he returns, he gets in the driver’s seat.