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“Fucking perfect.” I down the rest of my beer, slamming the glass on the counter with a grimace, and pull off my shirt. I turn for the sliding glass door that leads out the back. Along the way, I yank away my belt, toe off my socks and Jordans, drop my jeans, and slip out into the night. I’m followed by catcalls and cheers. It’s cold. Real cold. So I don’t stop, and cannonball right into the pool. For a beat, I consider staying under the water forever. It’s quiet, surprisingly warm and calm when the rest of me feels anything but.
Then more bodies jump in the pool alongside me. One after another after another. The pool is suddenly filled with half-drunk, half-dressed teenagers.
My lungs begin to burn, and I surge to the surface, shaking my head and making everyone scream and laugh. How fucked up is it that no one can even tell I’m crying?You’re right, Walker, I think wryly.This was a great idea.
A hand reaches out, and I grasp it, using it to pull myself out of the pool and into the freezing air. Pax’s gaze is grim. “You’rewild, man. You’d better crash here tonight. Remember where my brother’s room is? He’s at a college visit this weekend.” He helps me to my feet and passes me one of the towels hanging on a lounger. “You can use his room.”
SixCASE
I wake early to Pax’s silent house. I tap the lamp on the nightstand, and the dim light illuminates a bunch of retroBaywatchposters on the walls. I groan under my breath.
My mouth tastes like death, my head is fuzzy as all get-out, and it’s way too early in the morning for this much vintage David Hasselhoff.
I drop my bare feet to the carpeted floor with a groan. A quick glance at the alarm clock tells me its barely 5:30 a.m. Which makes sense. I was probably asleep by 10:00 p.m. The new Case Michaels, everyone: party like a firework—flare hot and fizzle fast.
It’s too early to bother Pax, but I don’t feel like sitting in this room, staring at the walls until everyone wakes up to nurse their hangovers. And I’m definitely not interested in answering for my actions last night.
There’s a chance I might be losing my shit.
My temper surges all over again, only this time, Walker’s ghostis nowhere to be seen. I’m sure being sober has something to do with Walker’s absence, and I’m doubly sure I don’t want to investigate beyond that. Not before sunrise, anyway.
I get dressed, leaving the sleep shorts I borrowed folded on the bed. I can’t remember where Pax’s laundry room is, and besides, I don’t know how to do laundry.
I sneak down the stairs and out the door and find my car parked on the drive but mercifully not blocked in. It unlocks with a muted bleep, and then I let out a hiss at the chill of the leather on my clammy skin. I turn on the heated seats, and everything warms up quickly, including my heated steering wheel. I got this car when I turned sixteen and never much thought twice about it. Yeah, of course it’s nice—nicer than what my classmates drove. But I’ve always had nicer things than my classmates. I never thought it made me better than anyone else. My dad did. But not me. Or did I?
Fucking Christine. It’s just a car.
I drive the ten minutes home and pull up the long and winding gravel drive right as someone else is turning off their headlights. It’s 6:00 a.m. and someone is already here to open up the stables? I don’t think I realized Camilla worked such long days.
But as I get closer and turn off the engine, I realize it’s not Camilla. And I notice the other car is… rough. A true junker. Like, even in the dim, shadowy light of dawn, I can see this rusty Ford Taurus is held together with duct tape and prayers.
Of courseit’s Winnie Sutton’s car. Of course she’s coming in to work at the same time I’m stumbling home from a night of drinking and diving naked into a pool full of shrieky girls.
I want to crawl out of my skin as I sink into the earth and also evaporate into the ether.
I hear Walker’s chuckle in the back of my mind. Must be some residual Lone Star swirling around in my bloodstream. Nice of him to stick around for this.
I open my door and wave as naturally as possible. I wish I had stopped for coffee or something so at least I could look like I was awake intentionally. Like, “Hey, I was just up checking my stocks and bonds and needed to get my caffeine fix because getting up early on purpose is totally a thing I do.” I clear my throat, but it’s still gravelly. “Good morning.”
Winnie tugs a chunky knit hat over her long dark waves, taking in my wrinkled appearance. “Good morning?” She seems less sure. “Rough night?”
I immediately notice she doesn’t even consider I woke up early and I can’t help but be pissed at her presumption, correct though it may be.
“Not as rough as I would have liked,” I quip back with a leer that feels wrong on my face. Winnie’s expression shutters immediately. I should backtrack, but instead, because I’m an idiot, I double down. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Instead of acting like a boring middle-aged mom.”
I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Winnie Sutton, so tiny in her oversize work coat, with her brilliant, flashing eyes and pink cheeks, is the furthest thing from boring.
“Better to act like anadultwho is trying to make something of her life than to act like a petulant child who had something bad happen for the very first time ever in his life and can’t cope.”
“What do you know about anything? I’m coping fine! And it was more than just bad.”
Her eyes soften a fraction before they harden all over again.“You smell like stale beer, look like shit, and are stumbling home at a time when the rest of the world is getting ready for their day. If that’s what coping looks like…” She trails off, derision thick in the air between us.
My heart is pounding in my chest and maybe a little in my skull. I step closer to her, near enough to smell coffee and laundry soap and leather and barn, and I work at not pressing closer to get more of it, because I’m spitting mad—
But I also feel fuckingalive right now. “So I went out to a party. I was invited to a party because peoplelikehaving me around. They seek me out. Weird how I didn’t see you last night.… Or any night.” I somehow keep from mentioning how I didn’t know who she was, because, even in my fury, I’m aware that says more about my shortcomings than hers. I cross my arms over my chest; she does the same. “But guess who I did see last night?” I pause for dramatic effect.
She rolls her eyes and drops her hands. “Please, don’t tell me. I don’t care. I have to get to work.”
