by Emma Scott
Miller had taken a seat with Ronan and a small group of people in the corner of the living room by the front window. He had his guitar on his lap and was watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.
But his eyes. They look almost…sad.
Then he looked away, turning his attention to Amber Blake. A pretty girl with long blonde hair. Evelyn called her a granola girl—her nickname for environmentalist, pot smoking vegans she thought made up a good percentage of Santa Cruz’s young people.
Amber and Miller’s heads were so close together, they were nearly touching. Maybe only to be heard over the music.
Maybe not.
I guess he’s not so sad after all.
“Yes, this game is old and cheesy but not the way I run it,” Evelyn said, tearing strips of paper lengthwise. “If your name is picked, you go in. Then we pick someone who joins you in the dark.” She grinned slyly. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide how to figure out who. When time’s up, you leave, but that person stays in the closet, and another name is picked. You get it? Like a chain. If you’re not picked to go in, you drink!”
The group voiced their approval.
“This is a woke version of Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Evelyn continued, writing our names on the strips of paper. “That means I don’t give a fuck if you’re a guy and get paired with another guy, or girl with a girl. You go in and get to know each other.” She grinned again. “How well you get to know each other is up to you. Someone have a timer?”
“Yes, my queen,” Holden said and jerked his arm from his sleeve to reveal a Philip Patek watch. I recognized the crazy-expensive brand since my dad had one too.
Evelyn unfolded a piece of paper. “Up first…Violet McNamara.” She leaned into me. “I got you, girl.”
I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I found Miller watching me again, his expression stony, his mouth a grim line. Suddenly, I felt as if I was getting up in front of a firing squad. Guilt assailed me, and I froze for a second, trying to sort through a strange tangle of emotion.
Then Evelyn nudged me, and I headed to the closet.
Inside, I felt my way along a wall of Mr. and Mrs. Blaylock’s collection of spare towels, sheets, and fabric softener, and sat down on the carpet. A few tense, nerve-wracking moments later, the door opened and a huge shape filled the dimness. The scent of woodsy cologne filled the space as River shut the door, cutting the party noise in half.
“Violet?”
“I’m over here.”
“It’s dark as shit…” River’s bulky shadow made its way across from me, and he sat against the opposite wall. A silence fell.
“This is a crazy party, huh?” I said as our seven minutes began to tick down. “That Holden is a strange guy.”
“Uh. Yeah.” River coughed. “He’s fucking weird. Reminds me of that vampire, Lestat.”
“Oh my God, I said almost the exact same thing, different vampire. I didn’t know you read Anne Rice.”
“I don’t. Saw the movie. I mean…my mom watched it once. I remember some of it, I guess.”
“Okay.”
Another silence fell, and the awkwardness between us grew. I wanted to ask how he was holding up with his mom being ill, but he probably needed the party to escape for a little bit, so I defaulted to sports.
“How are football practices going?”
“Good. Long. You play a sport too, right?”
“Soccer. We don’t start until spring.”
“Cool.”
More silence. This conversation was like an engine that wouldn’t turn over.
“So, Violet.”
“So, River.”
“Homecoming dance is in a few weeks.”
My heart took off. Finally. “Yes.”
“Are you going with anyone?”
“Nope!” I blurted and then pinched myself on the arm, marveling that after months of hanging out with Evelyn, not one of her flirting skills had rubbed off on me.
“Cool. So…would you like to go with me?”
“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that. Thank you.”
My skin burned so hot with a mixture of happiness and embarrassment, I thought I must be glowing in the dark.
“Great. We can work out the details later,” River said.
“Sure.”
Another silence and then someone pounded on the door, making me jump.
“Time’s up! Come on out, Violet. River, stay put.”
“That’s my cue.”
I started to get to my feet when River’s heavy, strong hand found mine. I felt him lean in; the dark between us shifted, and my space was filled with him. I closed my eyes. Heart pounding. Lips parted.
This is it. My first kiss…
“Thank you, Violet,” River said, and his breath—tinged with beer and the stronger tones of tequila—wafted over my cheek a split second before his lips landed there.
A thrill skimmed down my neck, making my skin shiver pleasantly…until I realized that kiss on the cheek wasn’t an appetizer. It was the main course.
He sat back against the wall and let go of my hand. “You’d better get out of here before Evelyn starts screeching.”
“Oh. Right.” I got up while wrestling my skirt back down. “Okay…uh. Bye.”
I hurried out, a forced smile on my lips, ignoring the group’s cat calls and demands for details.
“Well?” Evelyn hissed when I resumed my seat beside her. “What happened?”
“That felt like Seven Years of Awkward,” I said through a smile. “God, that was bad. I didn’t say anything worthwhile or witty. I just clammed up like a dork.”
“You weren’t supposed to talk,” Evelyn said, frowning.
“He asked me to Homecoming…”
“Yes! I knew it!”
“I know but… We had no chemistry. Zilch. I just wasn’t myself.”
And he wasn’t exactly all charm and swoon either.
“You got nervous because he’s a hot guy, and you like him. Give it time. Going to the dance with him is just the beginning.”
“You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”
My fake smile turned genuine, and I eased a sigh…until I caught sight of Miller watching me. He quickly turned away, back to his conversation with Amber.
That’s…good, right? Maybe he’ll ask her to the dance. Maybe we can all go together.
For some reason, the thought made me want to laugh. Or cry. Or both. I’d probably had too much to drink.
The crowd was getting impatient, so Evelyn drew another name from the pile to join River. “Holden Parish.”
The crowd, guys especially, ooohed and nudged each other.
“None of that Neanderthal bullshit,” Evelyn scolded. “It’s the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake.”
Holden tossed back a shot and climbed to his feet, swaying slightly. “If I’m not back in seven minutes…wait longer.”
The group laughed as he strode to the closet and disappeared.
“Oh, grow up,” Evelyn said to the guys who were still snickering. “My game. My rules.”
Everyone took a drink but me, and the seven minutes—timed by Isaiah—ticked down. Two minutes in, the closet door slammed open, and River strode out.
“Fucking asshole,” he muttered and stormed to the kitchen like a charging bull.
The guys looked ready to follow, but Evelyn wasn’t having it. “The game isn’t over.” She snatched a name from the pile. “Ooh. It’s me!”
“Bullshit,” Chance said. “Someone’s thirsty for the new guy…”
She gave her ex the finger, adjusted her bustier-style top, and vanished inside the closet. But without Evelyn holding it together, the game was over. The guys got up to join their quarterback in the kitchen. Julia and Caitlin wanted to wait for Evelyn, but Miller was still ten feet away, talking to Amber. Intimately.
I suddenly needed to get outside and get some air.
What’s wrong with you? River ask
ed you out. This is what you wanted.
Still feeling as I were on a boat tipping over mild swells, I carefully made my way to a lounger near the pool. Evelyn, Caitlin and Julia found me a few minutes later.
“Well, that was a waste of my time,” Evelyn said, fuming. “River’s right. That Holden is a fucking asshole. A psycho.”
“What happened?” I asked, alarmed. “Did he try something?”
She looked at me as if I were stupid. “No. That was the whole point. Instead, he just sat there, singing.”
“Singing?”
“Yes, Violet. He’s super drunk and—” The other girls began to giggle, and Evelyn shot them dirty looks. “Oh, shut up. I need to get super drunk.”
She flounced off, and Julia and Caitlin burst out laughing. “Vi, you missed it. Evvie stormed out of the closet and Holden went down on one knee in front of everyone, serenading her with that Shawn and Camila song, ‘Señorita.’”
I frowned. “But that’s a sexy song.”
Caitlin shook her head. “She didn’t find it sexy that he sang to her, ‘I love it when you call me señorita.’ It was pretty epic. That guy is crazy.”
Julia nodded. “Rich but crazy. A pity.”
I managed a smile and stood up. “Will you tell Evelyn I left? I think I’m done. I’m calling an Uber.”
“Already? It’s only ten o’clock.”
“Yeah, I’m—”
From inside the house, shouts could be heard, and the sudden smashing of glass. The house music suddenly went silent, and Holden Parish’s voice rang out loud and clear.
“Everyone shut the fuck up.”
And that’s when I heard it. The faint strains of a guitar.
I hurried back into the house. The Blaylock’s dining room overlooked the living room. Holden was standing on top of the dining room table. The smashed remains of the Patrón bottle lay strewn at his feet, shards glittering and scratching the polished mahogany. He barked at anyone still talking to shut up, lording over a room that had grew silent under his command.
For Miller.
My best friend was playing his guitar and singing “Yellow.”
Our song…
Others rushed in from the kitchen behind me, Chance demanding to know what the fuck happened to the dining room table. I hardly noticed. Neither did anyone else. Miller’s voice, scratchy and low and perfect, filled the darkened room, the understated strains of his guitar moving under it. His tone and pitch were haunting, melodic. Everything on display. The talent he’d kept to himself for so long, now free and touching everyone who listened.
Including Amber Blake.
She sat cross-legged in front of him, a dreamy smile on her lips. Miller’s eyes were closed; he wasn’t staring longingly at her, but my heart told me he may as well have been.
What do you care? You like River. He asked you to the dance!
But Miller was singing for the first time in public, with Amber. For Amber, maybe. And he’d chosen our song. My heart flooded with both joy and pain—like being feverish and chilled at the same time.
The room was rapt. Some sparked up their lighters; others turned on the flashlight function on their phones so that the darkness turned ghostly and starlit. It was so easy to reimagine the living room as a dim concert venue in which Miller and his guitar sat under the spotlight.
I tore my gaze from him to see the looming shadow of Ronan leaning against the wall casually, arms crossed but watching over Miller. Protectively. I looked back to Miller who was now watching me.
Our eyes met, and he held on to my gaze mercilessly while he sang.
“For you I’d bleed myself dry.”
I must’ve drunk too much because suddenly, I felt sick. I couldn’t move. My stomach had twisted in knots so tight, I could hardly breathe.
What is wrong with me?
The song ended and quiet descended, until Holden, still on the dining room table, dropped two words into the stunned silence, “Holy. Shit.”
The rest of the party erupted into cheers and applause, and that’s when I broke free of my stasis. I clapped too. I clapped so hard, my palms stung. My smile was so wide, it hurt my cheeks. Joy filled my heart, and yet, tears were streaming.
Miller witnessed my reaction. His expression softened, and he started to rise, but I pushed through the crowd, out of the front door and into the night.
Chapter Eight
I lost her.
My heart had already shattered into a million pieces watching River follow Violet into that closet. It cracked again when she ran away.
Follow her. Tell her. Now.
I got to my feet to follow Violet out the door when Frankie Dowd and this friends, Mikey and Tad, came in, crowding me and pushing me back.
“Well, lookit who crashed this party. Where you running off to, Stratton?” Frankie said, giving me a shove. His nose was bandaged under white gauze and tape; dark circles ringed both eyes.
“Back off, asshole,” I snarled.
Amber’s hand was on my arm, and she murmured soft words to come back and sit with her. I shook her off.
Frankie sneered. “Or what? You going to have your convict bodyguard cold-cock me again?”
Ronan loomed behind me, arms crossed, boots planted.
Frankie’s eyes widened in fear to see Ronan, then he snarled. “You’re fucking dead, dude. You have no idea who I am.”
“I know who you are.” Ronan’s voice sounded like it was coming from the ground. “I know exactly who you are.”
Tension tied the five of us together in tight bands that were ready to snap. And Violet was getting farther away…
“Dude! What the fuck are you doing?”
The party noise flattened as all eyes turned to the dining room table. Holden was tap dancing on the mahogany, amid the shattered glass, and barreling through a watery version of “Singing in the Rain.” He was drunk off his rocker but managed to keep out of Chance’s reach as the big guy tried to get him down. The room was lit, cheering and laughing, cell phones out.
“My parents are going to fucking kill me,” Chance raged. “Someone get over here and help me get this prick off the table.”
Holden laughed and danced out of the way of Chance’s swiping hand. River emerged from the kitchen.
“Show’s over,” he said, his voice cool and low. “Get the fuck off.”
Holden crouched and reached out a hand to River, crooning, “What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.”
River snarled and smacked his hand away. He made a grab for him, but Holden sprang off the table with shocking agility. Both he and Chance chased him the short distance to the living room, where Holden hurdled the back of the couch, landing between two people, then jumped onto the coffee table. Beer cans scattered, a bottle shattered and the glass ground under Holden’s shoes.
“Just singin’ and dancin’ in the raaaaain…”
Like everyone else, I’d been so riveted by the surreal scene in front of me that I’d been ignoring the scene behind me.
“You’re dead, fucker,” Frankie snarled at Ronan, and I turned in time to see the crazy bastard pull a police-issue Taser from the back pocket of his falling-down boardshorts.
“Whoa, hey…” I began, then ducked as Frankie lunged for Ronan.
Ronan, who’d been like a stone statue all night, quickly feinted right and knocked Frankie’s arm up and out. The Taser went flying, and Ronan gripped Frankie by the front of his shirt and drove him a few steps toward Holden and the coffee table. The crowd scrambled out of the way as the guys went down in a heap on the carpet, fists flying and hands grasping and tearing at each other.
River and Chance rushed over to haul them apart, but Frankie—red blood roses blooming on the white bandages on his nose—spat and fought like a rabid dog.
“Fuck this guy,” he screamed, wrestling out of Chance’s grasp. “You are so dead.” He grabbed the broken beer bottle off the coffee table at Holden’s feet and brandished the jagged end at Ronan. “
I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!”
More shouts from River and Chance, but Frankie swung the bottle to ward them off. Amber gripped my arm, and I shielded her from the chaos as best I could while I tried to pull Ronan back, but he was as immovable as stone.
The crowd hushed as Frankie took a few swipes at Ronan, and we all gasped as one of them drew blood across his forearm.
Ronan glanced down at the red line opened on his skin, then back to Frankie. “That was a mistake.”
His hands balled into fists, and I felt the tension in him coil. Ready to spring. He was going to get cut worse, maybe even stabbed, but not until he beat the shit out of Frankie.
Or kill him.
Then Holden jumped down from the coffee table into the middle of the fray. He stepped between the two guys, ripped his shirt open from under his coat and bared the left side of his chest to Frankie.
“Right here,” he seethed, his voice low and cold and empty. He tapped his chest, over his heart. “Put it right here. Go on. Do it. Do it.”
The crowd hushed. Everyone stared. No one moved. Frankie breathed through his nose like a bull, eyes wide with shock. The bottle in his hand trembled.
Slowly, I pushed forward and took hold of Holden’s arm. “Hey, man. Come on. Hey…”
Holden backed up while River took the bottle out of Frankie’s hand. A moment of eased tension and then Holden jerked out of my grasp, pulled his coat together, drew a clove cigarette from his pocket and said jovially, “Anyone got a light?”
Chance’s bleary eyes widened. “What the…? Get out. You three.” He waved his finger between Holden, Ronan and me. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
Holden turned to me with a mock expression of shock. “Rude, right?”
An incredulous laugh escaped me and then another, until a full-fledged outburst was building in me. The tequila I’d stupidly drunk did me no favors—I didn’t need to look at my watch to know my numbers were sinking, making me feel underwater.
Or maybe it’s just this crazy-ass night.
“Get out!” Chance bellowed.
He lunged, and Holden and I, laughing like loons, made a run for it. We turned at the door to see Ronan level Frankie with a final glare, and then he strode in long-legged paces after us.
