I park my car in the first empty spot I find on the street and then stalk up to the house, scanning the people outside smoking on the front porch to ensure none of them are her. Stepping inside the loud, crowded living room, my eyes sweep over the area until I find Rory perched on the armrest of one of the black leather sofas.
He motions with his hand for me to join him, and it’s not until I weave my way through the throng of people do I see he’s seated across from Juno, Dakota, and Nali. Gritting my teeth, I trudge over to them, and by the looks on all three of their faces, I immediately know his claims are true. A small part of me had been holding out hope that maybe he was mistaken and it was only someone who resembled Hudson here at the party.
“Where is she?” I bite out as I approach, not bothering with any false pleasantries. He knows why I’m here, and he knows I’m not happy. Poor guy’s had to hear me drone on and on every night for the last week about how I epically fucked up one of the best things in my life. And he knows about my recent resolve to win her back, which may be put into motion a little earlier than I intended. Like right-fucking-now early.
Tipping his head toward the back door, he grimaces as he stands up next to me. “White guy with dreads playing the acoustic. She should be close by. I told them I called you.” He warily glances down at her sisters, none of which look too pleased to see me.
Juno leaps to her feet and gets right up in my face, our noses nearly touching. “This is your last chance, Texas,” she warns, her blue eyes piercing through me. Grabbing my hand, she flips it palm-side up and shoves a key inside it. “A key to her house. Make sure she gets there safely and figure out how you’re going to make this all right. If for some reason you don’t want this—if you don’t want her—you need to walk out of here right the fuck now and never look back. You got it?”
“I got it, and I’m not leaving here without her,” I assure her before lumbering toward the back door, my mind focused on one goal.
I don’t hear any music once I’m on the back deck, nor do I see any dude with dreads, but it takes me less than a fraction of a fucking second to locate Hudson out in the center of the yard, huddled with a group of people around a small bonfire. With her back to the fire—and me—her waist-long blond hair blows wildly in the winter wind as she sits in someone else’s lap, their chests pressed against each other, her face nuzzled up in his neck. I can’t make out what his face looks like from here, but I already hate it.
As I make a beeline in her direction, my upper and lower teeth clench together so fiercely, so tightly, I’ll definitely be seeing a doctor about TMJ after tonight. I remind myself to try to stay calm, especially after my explosive reaction to seeing her with Beckham. The last thing I want her to think is I’m some out-of-control maniac; that would completely negate all of the positive things I’ve been working on. But, fuck, I really want to punch whoever the hell that dude is.
The smell of pot grows stronger the closer I get to the circle, and as I move over near where she is, I notice several joints being passed around the loop. Luckily, there’s an open seat to the left of her and fuckface, so instead of barreling up to her and making a big scene, I lower myself onto the vinyl fold-out lawn chair, trying my damnedest to reel in the frenzied fury racing through my veins before I open my mouth.
Pulling the brim of the hat down lower over my eyes, my knee bounces erratically as they break apart for the guy to accept a doobie from a girl on the other side, and the pool of lava deep in my gut burns even hotter. I have no idea what to expect from her when she sees me, but based on her inability to hold her head up on her own at the moment, I’m not sure it’ll even happen.
She’s tanked.
The guy—who really does look like a white Bob Marley, especially once I see the ponytail of dreadlocks dangling down his back—takes a few puffs off the joint then blows the smoke directly into her mouth from his, just like she used to do for me. I think I may be sick.
Bursting into a fit of drunk giggles, she throws her head back at something he whispers in her ear, and to keep her from falling off his lap, he circles his free arm around her thin waist and hauls her up closer to sit directly on top of his dick. My hands ball up into angry fists and I exhale an impatient breath, waiting…begging for her to look over at me. I’m not going to be able to keep quiet much longer.
Finally, Marley boy turns to me and extends his arm out to pass the weed. I pretend not to notice at first, making him nudge my shoulder and address me, which in turn gets her attention.
“Hey, dude, here you go.” The guy lifts the lit joint up in front of my face. “It’s all yours.”
I don’t reply, because I’m too busy staring at Hudson, who is now staring directly at me as well. Her glazed-over, bloodshot eyes narrow on me, and after a couple of seconds, a wide grin spreads across her face.
“Wait a minute! I know you!” she slurs while pointing at me, the goofy smile still intact.
I nod, keeping my face expressionless. I hate seeing her torn up like this, and knowing the way I’ve treated her most likely has something to do with the reason why, it fucking kills me. For Christ’s sakes, she’s so fucked up she doesn’t even know who I am right now.
“I know you too,” I reply softly, the edge of my mouth kicking up in a small apologetic smile.
“What are you doing he—” She starts to ask me one question, but then gets distracted and points at my shirt. “Hey! You aren’t wearing an ugly sweater! Why not?”
Glancing down at my plain black fleece hoodie, I lift my eyes back to meet hers. “No, I’m not planning on staying long. I just came to pick someone up.”
She curls her little nose up in disapproval and shakes her head, again nearly toppling to the ground. “Pick someone up? It’s too early to go home. I’m having such a great time here with,” she stops talking and looks over at the guy, obviously trying to remember his name, and then shrugs her shoulders when she gives up seconds later, “all these fun friends with ugly sweaters.”
I shift my gaze over to her nameless fun friend and look at him in a way that clearly says, ‘This little game is up. I’m gonna take my girl home now, and if you ever think about laying one of your piece-of-shit hands on her again, I’ll make sure you don’t play the guitar for a long fucking time.’
Guy language is a fucking miraculous thing, ‘cause it takes homeslice less than five seconds to read between my raised eyebrows to figure out it’s in his best interest to return what belongs to me. And she fucking belongs to me.
Hudson’s still babbling about something to do with the sweaters as Marley guy stands up, sliding her off his lap and onto her feet in front of him, except she’s so unsteady she staggers sideways and trips over a random branch, falling to the ground with a loud, “Owww.”
Being the only sober person around, my reaction time is light-years faster than anyone else’s, and I’m at her side in a matter of seconds, picking her up in my arms and shuffling her over to the chair I was just in. I sit her down and immediately begin to check her all over. The only place I can find any injuries is a good-sized scrape on her forearm, and although it’ll need to be cleaned and bandaged, I’m relieved not to find anything serious. And based on her near-comatose state, she’s not feeling any pain right now anyway.
I scan the small crowd that has gathered close to make sure Hudson’s okay, hoping to find the guy she was with so I can find out what she’s been drinking before I give her any medicine for the pain, but he’s nowhere to be found, probably hiding out from my wrath, which is a pretty smart move right about now.
Scooping her up in my arms, I’m cautious to keep the abrasion from rubbing up against anything as I carry her half-alert body across the backyard and into the house. I stop where Rory and Hudson’s three sisters are waiting to hear what happened.