99 Days(12)

“I did.” I smile at the half-surprised look on his face. “Thought I’d bail?”

Gabe shrugs and taps his plastic cup against mine, grinning. “Maybe.”

“Well,” I tell him, trying to sound more confident than I feel, “here I am.” I swig a big, sour gulp of my beer. It’s noisy, way more people than I was expecting—girls in shorts and bikini tops, guys in flip-flops. There’s a group of dudes playing beer pong on an old door laid horizontally across two sawhorses.

I’m about to ask where all these people came from when a shirtless guy in a cowboy hat I’m assuming is ironic slings his arm around Gabe’s shoulders. “Angel Gabriel,” he intones in a voice like the Bedtime Magic DJ on a lite FM radio station. “Who’s your friend?”

“Angel Gabriel, seriously?” I snort, putting my hand out to shake his. “That . . . is really something.”

“What’s more embarrassing is that he answers to it,” the guy says good-naturedly. “I’m Ryan, this is my hobo palace. Come on, kids, there’s food.”

“There’s food,” Gabe echoes wryly, like how can we possibly say no to that amazing offer, and we follow Ryan across the yard toward the grill. The whole affair is kind of cheerfully sketchy, Christmas lights rigged up across the yard and the faint reek of pot every time a breeze comes through. Gabe slips his hand into mine so I don’t get lost as we make our way through the crowd, and I try not to shiver at the contact. His palm is warm and dry.

I was wrong, that there’s nobody new to meet in Star Lake: The crowd here is a little bit older—kids who would have been seniors back when I was a freshman, and were off at college by the time the Driftwood debacle hit school like a hurricane. I was a sophomore when Gabe and I slept together; he left for Notre Dame that summer, and I spent all of junior year back with Patrick, trying so hard to pretend nothing had ever happened between me and his brother that some days I almost forgot anything had.

Everyone here seems to know Gabe, one eager voice after another calling out his name, everyone wanting his attention. He weaves me through the crush of people, one easy hand on the small of my back, introducing me to a long-haired guy studying horticulture at Penn State and a girl named Kelsey with giant gauges in her ears who works at a trendy gift shop in town. “What’re you going to major in?” she asks when she finds out I’m headed to Boston at the end of the summer.

I’m about to explain to her that I don’t really know when Gabe bumps my arm with his, friendly, and motions to where Ryan and a guy whose name I think is Steve are splashing around in the lake like a couple of lunatics. “What do you say, Molly Barlow?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. He’s had a couple more beers than me, I think. He looks as mischievous as a little kid. “You wanna get in?”

“Uh, no,” I tell him, smirking. Even if there were a snowball’s chance in hell I’d wear a bathing suit in front of a bunch of strangers looking like I look right now, I didn’t bring one. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Gabe nods. “You sure?” he asks, teasing, inching closer. “You need some help getting there, maybe?”

Oh, there’s no way. “Don’t you dare,” I manage, taking a step backward, laughing a little. It’s been a long time since somebody flirted with me.

“Sorry, what’s that?” Gabe asks. “I couldn’t hear you. It sounded like you were saying you wanted me to pick you up and throw you off the dock.”

“I’ll murder you,” I warn him, just as Kelsey says, “Uh-oh!” and then Gabe’s just doing it, scooping me up and tossing me over his shoulder like I don’t weigh anything at all. “A violent death!” I promise, but the truth is I can hardly get the words out with how hard I’m laughing. I smell smoke from the bonfire and the clean cotton of Gabe’s T-shirt as he strides toward the dock. Steve and Ryan are hooting at us from the lake, somebody clapping. Everyone’s looking, I’m sure of it. The weird thing is, in this moment I don’t even mind. “Lots of pain!”

“Sorry, what’s that?” Gabe asks. “I still can’t hear you.”

“With a hammer!” I declare, pounding my fists on his back. I don’t actually think he’s going to do it, but I’m about to smack him on the ass anyway when he stops super-abruptly and puts me on my feet all at once.

“The hammer scared you off, huh?” I say, out of breath from giggling, my hair all crazy messy and hanging in my face. When I lift my head to look at him, though, Gabe isn’t laughing back. I follow his gaze and that’s the moment I spy Tess watching us in the light of the bonfire, orange sparks flying through the air.

And Patrick—my Patrick—is by her side.

For a minute we only just stare at each other across the sandy, scrubby distance, his smoke-gray eyes locked on mine from yards and yards away. He’s taller than he was last time I saw him. There’s a livid purple bruise across one sharp cheek. I open my mouth and then close it again, feeling like I left my heart on the side of the road somewhere, blood-red and beating. My chest has closed up like a fist.

Patrick looks from me to Gabe and back again, shakes his head ever so slightly. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asks. From the look on his face before he turns away you’d think he was seeing something truly disgusting, a rotting corpse or a puddle of human vomit.