My people.
“Mark didn’t do anything,” I say, taking a seat on a stained, velour sofa. I’m not sure what color it’s supposed to be, but it ain’t pretty. Judging by the general appearance of her apartment, it’s been ridden hard and put away wet one too many times. Empty beer cans line the kitchen sink, and there’s a perpetual beer-burp scent in the air. These are the people my father warned me about, and they’re the nicest, most laidback people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Oh.” Liberty scratches the side of her head and slides in next to Kian, resting her head on his shoulder as he picks the strings of his guitar like he’s in his own little world. “Waverly?”
I shrug, as if to neither confirm nor deny. She sees right through it.
“Not Waverly.” Liberty laughs. “She’s so sweet and innocent.”
Kian puts his guitar down and pulls a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. He lights up and passes it to Liberty, who takes a long drag and gives it back. Watching them together is like watching the inner workings of a clock: intricate, intentional, and in sync.
“What’d she do?” she asks, exhaling a lungful of smoke.
“Not in the mood to talk about it.” I recline in my seat and rest my hands behind my head. Her walls are covered in posters of various rock and metal bands. How she and the Miller girls could possibly be from the same genetic pool is beyond me.
“Anybody want a beer?” Kian sits his guitar aside and rises up.
“I’ll take one,” Liberty says. I found out earlier that day that she was twenty-one. She appears a lot younger, minus the tattoos. “Jensen, you want one?”
“Got anything stronger?” I ask.
Kian laughs. “You’ve got a lot of balls, man. I like you. You sure you’re still in high school?”
“Told you,” Liberty says. “He acts older than the two of us combined.”
I feel old as fuck sometimes. It tends to happen like that when you spend the majority of your youth raising yourself, questioning authority, and growing up long before everyone else.
Kian comes back with two Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys and a fifth of off-brand vodka that’s half gone. “Take this. You can have it. Hide it. You didn’t get it from me.”
I accept his offering. “Thanks, man.”
Kian winks. “I know what it’s like.”
He leaves it at that, and I’m not in a mood to pry. It’s none of my business, and Kian seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t appreciate another man prying into his personal affairs, much like myself.
Kian’s phone dings.
“Who the hell’s texting you this late at night?” Liberty’s entire demeanor shifts. Her blue eyes burn dark and she sits up. Kian yanks the phone away from her like he’s hiding something.
“Okay, well, I should probably head out before anyone notices I’m gone…” I rise, shoving the half-empty fifth of vodka into my interior coat pocket and heading toward the door. They continue bickering like cats and dogs, and I’m not even sure they saw me leave.
Liberty will probably apologize tomorrow at work. Then again, she might not. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s sorry for a whole lot. I like that about her. She’s a take-me-or-leave-me kind of girl.
She’s earned my respect, that’s for damn sure.
***
I park in front of the main house, fully expecting Mark to be standing in the living room window again, hands on his hips, ready to give me a talking-to, but the house is dark.
Either no one noticed I left or no one fucking cares. The latter wouldn’t surprise me.
I carefully pad up the sidewalk and ready my key.
“Jensen.”
My heart drops. I don’t startle easily, but when you’re trying to sneak in to your own house and someone whispers your name from the bushes, it has a tendency to do that to a person.
Bushes rustle to my right, and I squint only to find what looks like Bellamy crouched down in between two trimmed hedges.
“What the hell are you doing down there?” I hop off the steps and reach for her hand, pulling her up. She’s dressed like a five-dollar hooker. Well, not quite. She actually looks hot as fuck. Two-dollar whore is what Josiah Mackey would call any woman who wore anything that showed any bit of skin. Juliette was the exception. She couldn’t hide her curves behind even her most conservative Sunday best, and Josiah liked that.
“I’m locked out.” She stands, smoothing the creases of her tight, dark dress. A small fur something-or-other hugs her shoulders. Other than that she’s got a whole lot of skin showing for a cool spring night like this.
“How were you planning to get back in?”
“I saw your truck was gone. I figured you’d be back soon.”
“And if I didn’t come back?” She’s shivering, though she tries to fight it. I grab her arm and lead her to the door, slipping my key in slowly and quietly praying the lock doesn’t clack enough to wake up the Big Man. I’m shocked he doesn’t have a security system installed.
“Guess I’d have frozen to death.” She laughs as if it’s funny—like she doesn’t care. Her eyes dart down to my jacket. “Your liquor’s showing.”
I feel like I’m talking to a complete stranger, and while I’ve only known Bellamy a few days, I’m starting to realize she is absolutely nothing like she seems. I know she commutes to a job in Salt Lake City. I know she walks a straight line when Mark’s around and keeps her mouth shut. That’s it. She’s pretty quiet most days, and it looks like she has damn good reason to be.
She pushes past me the second we get inside, removes her heels, and tiptoes up the steps. Her strategic maneuvers indicate she’s done this before. She seems to avoid the creakiest boards. I take note and follow suit.
Bellamy turns the corner at the top of the stairs and disappears into blackness. The gentle, slow click of her door tells me she made it safe and sound with the rest of her family none the wiser.
I crack a smile. The ones you least suspect should always be the ones you suspect the most…
Padding down the hall, I stop short outside Waverly’s door. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care. I should hate her guts. I take deep breath and a few more steps until I find the handle to my door. The second I step inside I shove my vodka in my top dresser drawer, rip my jacket and sweater off and slip out of my pants, tripping over random shit in the dark until I find my bed.
A small amount of moonlight peeks in through the break in the curtains on the far wall, illuminating the outline of a person lying in the middle of my bed. I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and then I realize…
Fucking Waverly is sleeping in my bed.
CHAPTER 12
WAVERLY
“When I said ‘whatever helps you sleep,’ this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
My eyes open the second I hear his voice. How long had I been out? I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, thankful for the shade of night. It was not my intention to fall asleep in his bed. Thank God Dad’s at Kath’s tonight.
He’s standing before me in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers. His shoulders are pulled back tight, and his hands are resting on his hips. I can’t quite make out his face, but I know the hard line of his lips means he’s not happy to see me.
I pull myself into a seated position, brushing my hair out of my face and mustering the strength to apologize.
I owe Jensen an apology.
I realized it the second he fled my room. My words were harsh, flung upon him without much thought and in the midst of a heated moment. I spoke out of fear, the same deep-seeded fear the guided my every life choice. Hearing about what he did scared the devil out of me and made me hate myself for what I did, and I took it out on him.
“I wanted to apologize,” I whisper. “What you did—”
“Try again.”
“What I heard—”
“Nope.”
“I shouldn’t have judged you.”