Chapter 23
“Bess, wait!” The moonlight dances off her blond hair as she runs away. I glare at Bryce. “You and I will have words later,” I hiss before turning to catch up with her.
Bryce reaches out and grabs my elbow, jerking me back so hard it sends a shock of pain into my armpit.
“You’re not running after her, man.”
I twist my arm, but his grip tightens, his thumb digging into my elbow painfully. “Only pussies run after girls.”
“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” I yank out of his grip, and look back toward the barn, but Bess is gone. I need to run after her, and I will, but now I’m so fucking pissed I can’t let this go.
“That was totally uncalled for,” I say, shuffling back. My elbow hurts like hell but I make sure not to show it so he doesn’t get the satisfaction.
Bryce shakes his head. “What’s uncalled for is you hooking up with a walrus, man.” He grimaces. “You’re sick, dude. Got some kind of fat fetish?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Are you blind?” I throw my finger toward the general direction where she’d ran away. “That girl’s not fat, she’s hot. And what the hell do you care about who I date, anyway?”
Bryce rolls his eyes and keeps shaking his head slowly back and forth like I’m some idiot and he can’t believe it. “Dude, that’s Bessie the cow. That fat chick from school.”
I lift an eyebrow. The cruel nickname sounds familiar, but I’ve never put a face to the name. “She’s not fat, man.”
“Maybe not right this second,” he says, moving his hands wildly. “But she used to be a fucking cow, dude. I’m pretty sure I invented that name for her. Just because she grew up and got titties and like, dropped some weight, doesn’t mean I want my best friend banging her.”
Anger takes ahold of me. If there’s anything I’ve learned in a lifetime of living with my mom and sister, it’s that women don’t like comments on their weight. The media puts enough pressure on them as it is, when really, a little meat on a woman is sexy as hell. What Bryce said to Bess was unforgivable, and what’s worse is that she might even believe it. I need to find her and make this right.
Bryce runs a hand over his chin. “Listen, Josh. You can get way hotter girls. Come with me back to the barn and I’ll introduce you to some.”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, turning back toward the barn. And then, just for good measure, I whirl around and slam my fist into his jaw with a satisfying crack. Bryce growls in pain and stumbles backward until he crashes into one of the benches along the wall of the gazebo. “Fuck off,” I growl, and then I run back to the barn, hoping to find Bess before it’s too late.
When I reach the barn’s sliding wooden door, the music feels louder than ever, and Bess isn’t standing by it. I scope out the parking area, looking for that shock of blond hair. I jog over to my truck, half expecting to see her standing there, leaning against the passenger door. She’ll probably want me to take her home, but at least I can try to make it up to her on the drive.
My feet stop short on the gravel road. She’s not at my truck. I even peer into the window, hoping to see her there even though I know my truck is locked.
The painful knot in my chest grows bigger as I turn around and head back to the barn. I don’t see her in the crowd of happy, drunken party people. She’s not back in the kitchen area, and I don’t see her standing near a small bonfire someone made outside.
When I call her, the call goes to voicemail. So, like an idiot, I try her three more times and get the same result.
My head is spinning, my heart pounding. I’m trying to remember high school and junior high, when Bryce thought it was hilarious to give people rude nicknames. I was never picked on so it never really bothered me. But now, the ache in my chest is so persistent I feel like I could throw up. Bess was one of his victims. And I never went out of my way to tell him to knock it off. Never punched him back when we were kids. He wasn’t insulting me so I just let it go, figuring it didn’t matter.
God, I’m such an asshole.
I don’t deserve Bess, yet here I am frantically looking for her and hoping I might still have a chance. I should have taken her on a real date, just the two of us. I should have worked harder.
She deserves an apology. I need to tell her how truly beautiful she is just in case she doesn’t believe it.
I call her again, and again. Then I send off a text.
Josh:Please please let me know you’re okay? Where did you go? Call me?
No reply.
I’m pacing around the party in a daze as I scope out any little spot she might be hiding. I can’t find her anywhere. I ask a few people if they’ve seen her, and their only reply is, “Bess, who?”
I venture outside, checking my truck again, but she’s not there. I call her again and then climb in my truck and send her another text.
Josh:Bess, please. I’m terrified that you’ve been kidnapped or something. Just tell me you’re okay.
Bess:I’m fine. Now leave me alone please.
