by Chloe Walsh
"Y'all are lab partners now?"
"Unfortunately."
"Uh-huh. Now, is that partners in Biology or…Chemistry?"
"You suck."
I attempted to bury a snicker and failed. "I'm sorry," I quickly conceded when she turned to glare at me. "But you two are a match made in heaven."
"More like a match made in hell," she was quick to point out, as we walked out of school and headed for the student parking lot. "He's a demon," Mercy continued to rant, blowing out a furious puff of air. "For real, Molls. That boy is the spawn of Satan himself."
"Then Satan has some good genes," I shot back, unable to hide my smile.
"So fucking good," she agreed with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh."
"Rourke really isn’t that bad," I decided to offer up, and I meant it. When I moved back to Ocean Bay for sophomore year, everybody at school ignored me. Worse than ignoring me, they pretended that I had never existed in the first place.
The friends I had left behind had changed. Gone were the kids with skinned knees and buck teeth. In their places were jocks and cheerleaders. Queen bees and alpha males. Breasts and bitchiness. Six packs and testosterone.
Everyone had forgotten about me.
Everyone except for Rourke Owens.
His warm offer of 'welcome back, Molly' on my first day back, and then his mumbled 'morning' or 'what's up' every day since meant a lot. Six-pack and pissy attitude or not, he had never once pretended that I didn’t exist and I appreciated that about him. It gave me the rare opportunity to see something in him that not a lot of people got the chance to see; the good person hidden beneath his heartless asshole façade.
As for the guys Rourke hung around with? Yeah, I wasn't even close to thinking about them – about him.
I couldn’t.
If I did, I would break and I had done enough of that in my short lifetime.
No more!
"I thought we already established that he's a demon."
"Yeah," I agreed with a roll of my eyes. "But not the worst demon in town." Trust me. "His issues make him testy and a little rough around the edges. But there's a heart underneath all of that assholeness and I think you know that."
A huffed breath was Mercy's only response to that.
Yeah, she knew it.
I grinned to myself, knowing that I had won that round.
Go me!
"I'm not going to the game tonight," she said then, bursting my temporary bubble. Earlier this week, Mercy had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to attend one of our school's home football games with me. Before I could protest or complain about her backing out, she quickly continued, "I know that I promised I'd go with you, but I can't do it. Letterman jackets and pom-poms?" She shook her head, not bothering to hide her disgust. "No, Molls. It's just not me."
It was a fair point and one I couldn’t really object to, not when I felt the same way. I loved football. I truly enjoyed the sport, but I couldn’t deny that I didn’t belong in the bleachers with our classmates. I didn’t fit into their world. Like Mercy, pom-poms were definitely not my thing.
"We can still have the party at your house after the game. I promise I won't bail on that," Mercy continued. "I'll even come straight over now and help you set up, but I honestly can't deal with Britt the bitch and her gaggle of cloned cheerleaders at the game. It's bad enough that we have to see them at school, never mind–"
"Oh god, the party," I groaned, rubbing my hand down my face. "What the hell was I thinking?"
At lunch on Monday, when Mercy told the guys that I was throwing a party at my house after the first game of the season, I should have shut it down and told them she was joking.
I didn’t.
And now?
Oh god…
"Whoa, watch it, jackass!"
The sound of a car horn beeping filled my ears and I quickly flicked my attention to the Chevy truck that was pulling out of its parking spot and coming straight for us.
Freezing in place, I quickly threw my hands up in shock as the sound of brakes screeching echoed around us.
"Yo, Lewis freaking Hamilton; mind slowing your ass down!" Mercy hollered, slamming both palms down on the hood of the truck when it came to an abrupt stop right in front of us, with +44's When Your Heart Stops Beating blasting from the truck stereo.
Mercy's eyes narrowed when recognition dawned on her. I didn’t need to look at the windshield to know who owned the truck that had almost made pancakes of us.
I would know that red, secondhand pick-up anywhere.
It was one of the few vehicles in the school parking lot that was more than five years old and didn’t scream 'ostentatious affluence'.
It was also the only truck that I actively sought out on a daily basis.
Stop being so pathetic!
He doesn’t even remember you!
Yeah, the day I realized Daryl King didn’t remember me was the day I died a little bit inside. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting when I returned to Ocean Bay, but to go completely unrecognized by the boy I'd spent my childhood with wasn’t it.
When I returned to Ocean Bay for sophomore year, I had this ridiculous fantasy that my best friend in the entire world would be waiting for me with arms wide open.
That was not how it went down.
How was a person supposed to react when they realized that their best friend in the whole world had forgotten them?
And no, I wasn't talking about the occasional snub in the hallway between classes. I meant full-on forgotten-you-ever-existed kind of forgetting.
Did a person just dust themselves off and carry on? Did they cry? How did someone get over that kind of abandonment? That ferociousness of a betrayal?
I wished I knew.
Two years had passed since the day Daryl snubbed me on his doorstep. Since he had ripped my heart clean out of my chest with his friendly smile and look of blank indifference. Followed by two years' worth of passing me blank-faced in the halls of school, and it was only now that I had become friends with his best friend's stepsister that I was suddenly on his radar.
Worse than his careless dismissal of my return two years ago was the fact that he had sat with me during lunch this week and still didn’t remember me.
It hurt, worse than I cared to admit even to myself, but what could I expect?
He grew up good, popular, handsome.
He was the quarterback of the high school's football team.
He was everything I wasn’t – not to mention in every group I would never be welcomed into.
One of the popular ones.
One of the school's elite.
I was one of the invisible.
It was a hard pill for me to swallow really, knowing that I had shaped, dreamt, and envisioned this boy all through my recovery. I'd clung to the memory of our friendship throughout all the surgeries and the pain, the loneliness and the sheer despair.
I held onto the memory of a boy who didn’t exist anymore.
Repressing a shiver, I hurried to Mercy's Comet, while she continued to chew the boys out. "Well, if it isn't Bebop and Rocksteady. Ever hear of Drivers-Ed? No? Well, maybe you should sign the hell up because you can't drive for shit, douchebag!"
"Like getting mowed down, Six?" Rourke's familiar voice taunted, as he leaned out the passenger window of the Chevy, grinning at my friend. "Just say the word, baby, and I'll be more than happy to put you on the flat of your back."
"Hard pass."
"Denial is a river in Egypt, Six."
"Whatever you say, butt-muncher. In the future, watch where you losers are going."
Storming away from the boys, Mercy joined me at her car and released an audible growl. "I'm going to kill that prick."
Yeah, I had a feeling she was going to do a lot of things to Rourke, but killing him was not one of them. Verbal foreplay was Rourke and Mercy's thing, and whether she admitted it or not, she was totally hot for him.
A shiver rolled through me when the red pickup pulled in
to the parking spot next to ours. The driver's side window rolled down and the older version of the boy I used to know stared back at me. "I'm sorry about that." He had the same green eyes, but his deep, masculine voice matched the stranger he had become.
My breath hitched and I quickly dropped my gaze.
Breathe, Molly, just breathe.
When I wrangled my emotions into check and looked up at him, my mask was firmly in place. The same mask that I wore every day since returning to Ocean Bay. None of these people would ever get a chance to see beneath it. He would never see beneath it, see the real me, and that suited me just fine.
"That’s okay," I chirped in my brightest tone, as I tossed my bag in the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat of Mercy's car. "Good luck at the game tonight."
Daryl didn’t reply to that or offer me a smile in return. Instead, he continued to study me with his razor-sharp gaze, as his eyes roamed over every inch of my face.
For a brief, terror-stricken/ heart-leaping moment, I thought that he might be putting the pieces together and remembering, but then Rourke spoke and Daryl shook his head.
He looked away.
My heart sank.
Maybe Mercy was right and this party was a terrible idea, but he was like crack to me. Spending time with him was a prospect I couldn’t turn down, no matter how hard common sense tried to tell me otherwise. I was too invested in seeing this through.
"Are we still on for the party at your place tonight?" Rourke asked, fixing his blue eyes on me.
Say no, Molly.
Say no, dammit.
Get out of this.
You're going to be responsible for breaking your own heart.
"Sure," I replied with a smile.
Daryl
Have you ever known someone for so long that your time together blurs? Like you don’t know where you start or where they end, but know that you've never spent a day of your life without that person in it?
Yeah, I had that once.
For ten years.
And then I lost it.
Because I forgot.
I forgot to remember her…
Daryl
It started off like any other Thursday.
I woke up, worked out, ate breakfast, and went for a swim. I went to football practice, showered, and dragged my ass to class. I joked with the guys and flirted with the girls. I snoozed my way through most of my classes, ate lunch with my team, prepped for tonight's game with coach, and made plans to party afterwards.
Just a typical Thursday.
Nothing was different.
And then just like that, everything changed.
Struck fucking dumb, I had listened as what started out as an innocent conversation with my best friend about our plans for the night had morphed into a life-altering reality check.
"…Her name is Molly Peterson. She went to school with us until the third grade. You have the worst fucking memory, Daryl. She's the one whose mom and brother burned in that house fire when we were younger… Dude, she came back Sophomore year…"
Two words.
One name.
A lifetime of memories.
Rourke had dropped the bomb that I was sure was about to detonate and cause my world to implode around me.
Everything that was said since his revelation had gone clean over my head.
I couldn't register the words coming out of Rourke's mouth when we walked to my truck after school and climbed inside.
I couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing at all, which was probably why I almost pummeled both girls with my truck.
Even now, as I watched the girls pull out of their parking spot and join the line of traffic trying to exit the school, I couldn’t think straight.
My focus was locked on the blonde in the passenger seat of the convertible.
Jesus Christ.
She was back.
And I never realized.
I was seeing her now, though, and it cut like a knife.
Molly-Dolly.
"Fuck," I croaked out, feeling my stomach bottom out, body tensing at the sight of her. She didn’t look back at me, and I was glad. I didn’t want anyone seeing the level of guilt I was currently drowning in.
"She fucking hates me." My best friend's laugh infiltrated my thoughts – hell, never mind infiltrating, he goddamn spoke my thoughts aloud – and I flinched.
Four words.
She fucking hates me.
Yeah, that sounded about right.
Looking up, I spotted Mercy James edging her sweet ride towards the jammed exit. She was steering the car with one hand, while flipping Rourke off with the other.
"That's right, Six," Rourke purred, using the pet name he'd given her. "Flip me off, baby. I'll put those hands to good use later." He returned her middle-fingered gesture and continued to revel in his victory, completely unaware of the inner turmoil I was drowning in.
Of course, I knew why the douche was currently sporting a shit-eating grin. After months of verbal warfare, not to mention unbearable sexual tension, he'd finally persuaded his stepsister to get under him.
Both literally and figuratively.
That's right.
My best friend was banging his own damn sister now.
"Is it bad that I want to choke her out almost as much as I want to get inside her?" Rourke asked, watching her car as she finally pulled out of sight "Fuck, she's beyond temptation, man."
"Y'all are toxic as fuck," I offered, unable to garner any enthusiasm for the sudden development in his sex life. "Sissy's as likely to cut your balls off as she is to open her legs for you."
My words of warning didn’t seem to deter Rourke. In fact, he looked downright delighted with himself. "I know." He grinned devilishly. "That's what makes her so damn interesting."
Dysfunctional asshole.
"You've got mommy issues, dude." Running a hand through my hair, I flicked on my blinker and pulled into line. "Seriously," I added. "You need Jesus."
"Nah. It's too late for me to repent, dude. Besides, I'm not sorry and I've already booked my ticket to hell," Rourke said breezily. "On another note, I can't believe you didn’t realize Molly was back in town." He shook his head. "Y'all were tight as fuck when we were kids."
I couldn’t believe it either.
And I hadn't just been tight with Molly Peterson; I'd spent my every waking hour with the girl until I was ten.
We'd grown up together until the night she left.
And you forgot her.
I shook my head, recoiling in both shame and horror.
How the fuck did a person do that?
How had she managed to walk around my school for two years without me noticing?
Was I that fucking obtuse?
Jesus, this was screwing with my head.
Messing me up real bad.
Memories of another lifetime floored me and the pain was severe, like being winded to the point of passing out…
I hated going to church. Sitting in the pew beside my mama and sissy, I folded my arms across my chest and glared straight ahead. Dressed in my Sunday finest, I felt like a tool. I hated the navy sportscoat I'd been forced to wear, but not nearly as much as I hated the man whose hand my mother was holding.
Laurence 'Wren' Chambers, deputy sheriff of Ocean Bay, and my new daddy.
Puke.
I hated that man and I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
Rourke's dad didn’t force him to go to church. Heck, my best friend didn’t have to do a dang thing he didn’t want to do. Not me, though. Nope, I was dragged here by Wren every Sunday – some days kicking and screaming.
Jerk.
The preacher continued to drone on about the importance of family and my lip curled up in disgust.
I had no time for fairytales and lies.
Besides, from my brief experience with the world, I was well aware that families were well and truly overrated – and fickle.
Just ask Rourke.
His mam
a had passed when we were little and his daddy had been steadily replacing her ever since. I couldn’t recall if Gabe Owens was on wife number four or five by now. I'd stopped counting after number three.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as a paper airplane whizzed past my head before coming to an abrupt stop when it crashed against the back of Mr. Lambert in the row ahead of my family.
Excitement soared to life inside of me and I quickly snatched up the paper plane, unable to stop myself from smirking.
Her aim was getting better.
A low snicker came from behind us, and that somehow earned me a sharp elbow in the ribs from my loving stepdad.
Asshole.
Jaw ticking, I swallowed down my anger – and the urge to hit the douche back twice as hard – before inconspicuously unfolding the paper plane.
Play with me?
Three words penned in her neat handwriting.
Three dangerous words that were sure to get me in a world of trouble with Wren, but somehow, I didn’t care.
She was worth it.
I counted to ten and then slowly back to five before rising to my feet with my hand pressed to my mouth, feigning sickness. My mother's concerned gaze landed on mine, right along with Wren's look of incredulity. Fully aware that I was a piss poor actor and not giving two shits whether they believed me or not, I gestured to the exit before quickly bolting.
The moment I pushed through the church doors and stepped outside in the mid-morning sunshine, she was on me.
Pouncing onto my back like a playful kitten, she clasped her small hands over my eyes and giggled in my ear. The smell of flowers and grass filled my nose and a small shiver ripped through my body. "Guess who?"
"The man in the moon," I replied, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face, as I reached up and peeled her small hands away from my eyes.
"Nope." Molly jumped down, landing gracefully on her small feet before pirouetting on the spot, causing her short, yellow sundress to blow up in the breeze, revealing her matching yellow panties.
Donning a smile that had been causing me some problems as of late, she grinned up at me and I felt my face grow hot. "Guess again."
