by JL Mac
But lying here now in a T-shirt belonging to Chick that I vaguely recall tugging on after texting my mom to tell her I was too inebriated to drive home and would be staying at Chick’s house, none of the fun from last night matters. This brand of hangover is never worth the fun that precipitated it. As the blackness of sleep slips away, the headache and nausea edge in. Somehow, the scent of coffee snakes through the tequila vapors and coils around my sloshed brain. I moan, squeezing my eyes tighter shut while pressing my fingers to my temple. Chick’s couch is comfy enough but no amount of anything good could have prevented the raging hangover I earned with every shot we consumed at the bowling alley bar last night.
Was it four shots or five?
The eerie sensation of eyes on me has me forgetting all about my throbbing head and roiling gut. My pulse quickens and I do a mental inventory of my body. I’m still in the tee shirt Chick tossed at me last night as I stumbled to his bathroom cellphone in hand. The fleece blanket I only half unfolded across my legs is still where I left it, its slight weight a reassurance that nothing unseemly took place last night. Anxiety is pacing the room in my head.
With careful precision I crack open one eye just a sliver then in an instant my heart slams to a violent, jolting halt.
“Happy twenty-eighth birthday, Rae. Ready to be a woman of your word and make good on our deal?” Familiar chocolate eyes twinkle with amusement as a store bought carrot cake is pushed toward me on Chicken Nugget’s coffee table.
Sylas Broussard.
I don’t move a muscle—and scarcely draw breath with my eyes still cracked open only a tiny bit. Sylas fishes a cigarette lighter from his shirt pocket and leans his bulky frame forward, then lights a single white candle on top my favorite cake which he did on purpose no doubt. Of course he’d remember a detail like my favorite cake.
Just like I know he too loves carrot cake with Chantilly cream icing.
The orange flame flickers and dances in the stillness between us. He on one side of the coffee table and me sprawled, hung over and significantly worse for the wear on the other. Oh how flattering this scene is.
“Make a wish, Rae,” he murmurs and something mischievous lurks behind his all American smile. I turn my attention to Chick who is by the entrance to his kitchen, apparently freshly showered as evidenced by his wet mop of dark blonde hair. He’s got a mug in one hand and an apologetic smile on his face.
“No thanks,” I snap at Sylas, hauling myself off the couch. I turn and face Chick. “There for your friends, huh?” I growl at him. He grimaces and clicks his tongue.
“Never said which friend,” he smiles stiffly.
“Asshole,” I mouth.
“Sorry,” he says back. I snag the candle from the cake and turn it over, jamming the wick end down into the creamy icing. My eyes find Sy’s and I feel homicidal seeing his mouth twitch in amusement. I don’t know where my car is, but walking back to my parent’s house in the Louisiana humidity is far more appealing than sitting here in Chicken Nugget’s living room with Sylas for a moment longer.
I locate my Converse—one by the front door and another closer to the couch I slept on. I jam my feet down into them, not bothering with tying the laces. I grab my small pile of things off the coffee table and make my hasty exit all with Sylas Broussard’s arrogant smirk crawling over my skin. The bastard! And Chick… I can’t sufficiently begin to describe the tongue-lashing he has earned himself. Seeing Sylas in the same room, breathing the same air, feeling the energy rolling off him in waves… it’s all too familiar, too powerful, too much. But, of course, he always was too much. Even back then. Even now, years later.
Chapter 6
Sylas
Tenth grade…
Tenth grade is going to be a complete snooze-fest with exception to pestering the hell out of Rae for a date. I can tell already and it’s only been two weeks since the first day of our sophomore year. Rae will be a good distraction though. I’ve known the girl most of my life—hell—since fifth grade when Northlawn Elementary and Bayou Elementary merged. I saw her in the cafeteria the very first day of fifth grade and I’ve been her shadow ever since. She hates me for it but something about her fight, her stubborn attitude makes me come back for more. It’s a bit of a hobby.
My mom and her mom both work for the school district so them becoming friends when we were in elementary school was just a coincidence—a convenient one for me and a shitastic one for Rae. I enjoyed pestering her through middle school just for the hell of it but it wasn’t until Chick mentioned asking her to our eighth grade prom that my guard went up and something changed. My hobby of teasing her became more of a mission than anything else.
I asked her to our junior high prom in eighth grade and she laughed hysterically then walloped me right in the shoulder. She thought I was kidding until I started asking her once a week, then once a day then every time I saw her until the prom came and went. That was the year I got my laptop and could finally load more music onto the iPod. I put a playlist on the thing called PromWithRae. She countered with her own playlist titled HitTheRoadJack. It had one song on it. Safe to guess which one. She went with someone else to prom and so did I—Brooklyn who gifted me with my first real kiss that night. I liked Brook okay, and she was fun to hang out with but she wasn’t Rae—still isn’t.
After that junior high prom… well… I don’t exactly know why but I had grown accustomed to seeing that pink flush creep over Rae’s skin when I teased her and I started craving it—needing her blush, her embarrassed expression. Knowing that I was the only person capable of getting her so riled up kinda made me obsess over her. Even pissing her off excites me.
So, here it is two years of pestering and flirting heavily with Rae and it still hasn’t grown old. The summer between eight and ninth grade was when I became more than hooked on Rae. She’d come back from vacationing in California with sun kissed skin and a body that was definitely more like a woman’s than a girl’s. My fixation with Rae only gets worse by the day. My picking on her has turned from flirtatious fun to needy hunger, an addiction. Her jet-black hair and fair skin make her blue eyes standout. She looks like a modern Snow White. My personal Snow White.
I took one look at her when she got back from vacation the summer before high school and knew every asshole in school would be trying to take her out and there was no freaking way I’d allow any of that. That’s why I decided I’d do whatever it took to score a date with her while telling every other asshole at school that she was spoken for. I even enrolled in the advanced curriculum courses for ninth grade just so we would end up with many of the same classes.
Lucky for me, at a Sunday barbeque the week before our high school journey started, I snuck into her room and found her prepared backpack. Rae is a teacher’s pet—a total hot nerd. The girl is a walking oxymoron. I knew she would have all her things ready to go for the first day of high school well in advance. I copied her class schedule card on my palm using a purple glittery pen I stole from her backpack—a pen I chose to keep which pissed her off so bad. When we left the barbeque, I made sure to wave my palm in her face so she’d see what I had done. Her mouth gaped, and she shook her head before stomping to her bedroom no doubt to see if I messed with anything else.
When I went into the counselor’s office the first day of school, I simply fed our guidance counselor, Mr. Gafford a crock of shit when I told him I chose to change to the more challenging courses to prepare for college. He ate that shit up with a spoon and was all too happy to ditch what I had been assigned for the schedule I requested—Rae’s schedule. Truth was, I wasn’t happy about the harder work—that part sucked then and it still sucks now and I knew it would interfere with the amount of time I could slack off with the guys but it was worth it. Rae was worth it and I would make her help me if I needed it whether she liked it or not. One mention to her momma that I needed help and she would be forced to tutor me.
The bit about college was bullshit too. I knew I was going into the militar
y, just like Steven, my big brother. He just got out of the Marine’s having finished up four years. He will be moving back home next month. Dad’s already been helping him look for a job here in town. I haven’t said anything to anyone aside from Chick about me considering joining the Marines. I’ll have to figure out a good time and the right words to spill those beans.
The bell rings just as Rae slips through the door to Mrs. Burke’s tenth grade English class. She chooses a seat in the first row, closest to Mrs. Burke’s desk. She’s a squat woman with gold-framed glasses and a severe lisp. She goes to the same church my family and the Potter’s do.
Rae is oblivious to me as she settles in and digs out her notebook and two pens, one blue, one black. I grab my backpack and tap Kyle on the shoulder. He’s sitting directly diagonal to her on the second row. He tilts his head up at me and I jerk my head telling him to get lost. Kyle smirks and then grabs his stuff to swap desks with me. The switch grabs Rae’s attention and her ice-blue eyes land on me then immediately narrow when she realizes I moved just to get closer to her.
“Good morning, clath. Today we will be taking the thummary tetht covering Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomath Hardy, which all AP English thtudenth were to read over the thummer break.” Half the class groans in protest. I assume they didn’t read the stupid book. I did only because Rae seemed pretty engrossed in it and I had to know what the hell had her so rapt. I was happy to find out that the dude that stuck around long enough got the girl. The book was pretty good.
“Hey, Rae. Wanna go get a burger tonight?” I ask leaning forward whispering low absently twirling Rae’s glittery pen in a circle on top my desk. Mrs. Burke is handing packets down each row of desks so I take the opportunity to mess with Rae.
“Stop. It,” she whispers back with her jaw locked. I grin and lean back in my chair, getting comfortable.
“Gimme the anthwerth to the tetht then,” I whisper back poking fun at Burke while she’s still counting out test packets for the first row.
“You know the answers. I saw you reading the book Sunday at your house and judging by your spot in the book, you finished it,” she says low, refusing to look at me.
“Aw, you were watching me Rae?” I press my hand to my chest like I’m real touched by it. Steam is practically billowing out of her fair little ears.
“Stop,” Rae whisper-yells. Burke clears her throat and props one balled fist high on her hip.
“Agree to one date,” I counter.
“Thinth clearly there ith thome confuthion leth clear it up now. There ith no reathon for anyone to be chatting up their neighbor unleth they have or crush or thomething. Tho, if you have a crush on your neighbor and mutht profeth your undying love, by all meanth, thandup now tho the retht of us can go about tethting.”
Oh, this is just too beautiful to pass up. I grin, my cheeks aching. This is a golden opportunity to embarrass Rae and coerce her into going out with me. I slowly unfold myself from my desk, standing tall much to Rae’s horror as I smile proudly down at her in her seat. “I’ll be your Gabriel Oak,” I cite the dude in the book that eventually got the girl. I glance to Mrs. Burke who is pissed but also visibly pleased that I obviously read the book. “How about that burger, Rae?” I ask clear and loud for everyone to hear me. Rae cups her hand, bracketing her face, pretending to not see me as she sinks lower into her chair. Her gorgeous skin turning a shade of deep pink, the tips of her little ears turning red as our classmates giggle.
“Brouthard, athk Raegan out on your own time,” Mrs. Burke warns.
“But I’m already asking her out now. Just waiting for the green light, Miss Burke,” I argue with my arms flung outward.
“Jesus,” Rae groans quietly somehow sinking further into her desk. The class is giggling and whooping.
“Oh, thit down Brouthard!” Burke snaps at me, sending fine spittle flying out of the edge of her mouth. I laugh quietly, raising my hands in surrender, take a bow facing the rest of our classmates who are all whooping and clapping, then do as I’m told while plotting against my stubborn Snow White. She’s mine she just doesn’t want to admit it yet. Or maybe she hasn’t figured that out yet. Either way, I’ll help her see it like I do. We are meant for each other.
Chapter 7
Raegan
I should just begin making a list of all the shitty occurrences as they come my way during this trip home that way next time I am supposed to make the trek back to Palmetto Grove I can refresh my memory of all the reasons I should manufacture a really worthy excuse to just... not.
Do or die work obligation, broken bone, house fire, goddamn Ebola virus! Anything to never repeat this trip, Anxiety says frantically.
The raging hangover was the least of my issues today. Sylas Broussard in my face, bright and early on my twenty-eighth birthday, smiling that fucking smile of his which was definitely a big, fat, unfortunate trump card on what would normally be a hangover for the history books. Hangover? What hangover? That is the least of my worries at present.
Thanks, Chicken Nugget.
I am so distracted by his appearance this morning with my favorite cake on my actual birthday that the splitting headache or the last minute ribbon tying Ellie has tasked me with is playing second fiddle to him. As it were, so did locating my bra before I left Chick’s house. I walked home braless and sweaty with the king of all hangovers reigning supreme over my body as the booze I drank made an encore appearance in the form of the sweat that seeped out of my pores. It was extraordinarily gross and not one of my finer moments.
Oh, how cable news networks would love to have footage of Senator Cline’s campaign manager and chief strategist nursing a hangover on the side of the road in nowhere Louisiana with tits free as can be, Negativity scoffs.
Still, my walk home and epic hangover occupies far less mental real estate than seeing Sylas.
Ellie has charged me with tying rough hemp twine around two hundred fifty dinner napkins and she wants the loops “kinda this big, but not ginormous, yanno?” Whatever the hell that means. Fantastic. Raw fingertips from trying too hard to make perfect sized loops is just what I envisioned for myself while visiting for my baby sister’s wedding. Never mind the nagging chatter in my brain poking fun at the fact that my little sister is getting married and is stupid-happy with life while I’m the older sister and generally I’m hollow as a drum in every tragic way.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” I mutter bitterly.
Sylas didn’t chase me this morning. He didn’t harass me on my long sweaty walk home. He didn’t even flinch when I practically spit in his face on my way out of Chick’s front door. He smiled tightly at me while his dark eyes seemed to look through me searching for truths I was most definitely not going to offer up voluntarily.
Even showered, medicated with aspirin, and fortified with a self-pep talk I feel only half-strength, but there is no help for that now. The wedding rehearsal and dinner is in half an hour and I must be there as Ellie’s maid of honor. It’s my duty. Sylas Broussard drama or not, I refuse to disappoint my sister on her big occasion. God knows I sincerely hope she will only be walking down the aisle once in her lifetime. I have high hope that Doug is truly the one as she had promised me. Doug grew up in Palmetto Grove too and idolized Teddy. He hung out with all the usual suspects and I knew him back then but I couldn’t begin to speculate about the man he ended up becoming. I love her and I came back to a place that serves as my personal hell to prove it. So help me if Doug screws things up. With Teddy gone I sort of assumed the role of big sister and big brother too so my presence and support for Ellie is double in many ways. That is to say I tied a bunch of bows today and later when I see Doug I’ll reiterate to him just how wonderful Ellie is and how I’ll throttle him if he ever breaks her heart. Call me a Jack-Of-All-Trades.
“Okay,” I whisper to my reflection smoothing my short cocktail dress down my thighs. “Rally, Rae. Time to rally,” I whisper, primping and tucking in errant hairs. I’ll be damned if Sylas a
nd our past is going to rule this night. He’s out of sight and out of mind. Sure I’ll have to see him tomorrow at the wedding, I doubt he’d skip it but I have until tomorrow to get my game face in place, thank god. Ellie and Doug deserve to shine with all attention focused on their union. It would be obvious and unfortunate if the spinster big sis and maid of honor were only half aware during their wedding. A familiar mask of determination—the one usually reserved for news interviews and campaign events slips over my features and the anxiety of seeing Sylas again eases tremendously.
Much better, Self-Preservation golf claps for me.
On my way out of my room I snag the ribbon bouquet mom and I put together using all the ribbons from the gifts Ellie opened at her bridal shower, the same one I didn’t attend. “Ready?” I chirp confidently as soon as my heels click against the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Ellie whips around in her white cocktail dress and gasps at the sight of me. She launches herself into my arms. “Whoa,” I laugh but it quickly dies when I feel her shaking against me. I draw back to survey her face. She’s crying.
Great.
I arch a brow in question and she laughs through her tears. “Sorry. Sorry,” she sniffles laughing and waving her hands at her face simultaneously. “I’m just overwhelmed. You look so pretty and you’re actually here at home and everything is just so perfect and I miss Teddy and I’m gettin’ married and… gah!” She fans her hands in front of her face and I join her fanning her face before her tears ruin her carefully applied makeup. “I was kinda doubting you’d come, you know?”
Ouch.
I force the lump in my throat back down to its dungeon, pat it on its head and promise to visit later. “Well, I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world. I’m here now and you’re stuck with me which is great because lucky for you I manage people and events and total chaos for a living so,” I snap my fingers in front of her face three crisp times. “Let’s pull it together and rule this entire weekend! This is your show and you are going to own it. Got it?” Ellie sniffles and nods while she pulls her shoulders back and looks at me with that same determined look she wore as a kid when she was faced with a challenge. “You’re a goddess and this is your weekend. Do not ruin it with wasted tears. Tons of pictures are going to be snapped this weekend and if you’re crying all the time, your makeup will be ruined and your grandkids will be left with lackluster photos of granny on her wedding day. Got it?”
