by Dee Lagasse
Remembering I still have half a face full of smeared black eye make-up, I sit down at the white vanity my dad built for me for my 16th birthday. The reflection looking back at me causes me to roll my eyes. If tonight was Halloween, I could have just gone as the undead. Waterproof mascara, my ass.
Taking a small cotton cloth full of make-up remover, I scrub my face clean. I don’t reapply any make-up, instead choosing to leave the face of freckles staring back at me uncovered. Some people tan in the summer, but not me. My fair, light, Irish skin usually alternates between “Casper” and lobster. The only thing that changes with the seasons is the number of freckles on my face. Being that it is the tail end of summer, they are currently in abundance.
Even with my dad’s plea to crash at Chase’s, I don’t plan on ending the night anywhere other than my own bed tonight. Grabbing only my phone and the bag with Kinley’s clothes, I open my bedroom door, eager to forget about the day and move onto the next part of this night. Stepping right out into my living room, I find Chase, Kinley, and Davis squished together on one end of my brown leather couch. Opening my mouth to make a comment about “getting this show on the road,” I close my lips as fast as they opened, a word never leaving my lips. Instead, I freeze in place when Chase points down to something on the page they’re looking at and says that he's “never told me but he's glad Alex bailed on me that night.”
Prom. It must be a senior prom picture.
Hanging back, I still don’t say anything. Though, I’m not sure why. Maybe a part of me is hoping I’ll catch Chase make another admission. My attempt at staying in stealth-mode isn’t as smooth as I imagine though, because Kinley notices me lurking in the doorway almost immediately.
Nudging my brother with her elbow first, she stands up and gives me the same evil smirk that came right before the “Chase and Hollis” comments she made in my bedroom as she passes me. Davis hands the book over to Chase and stands up, taking his girlfriend’s not so subtle cue to leave the room. Surprisingly, Chase makes no effort to move off the couch. His face is down, but I imagine his expression matches the one I had when I saw the first page of the book. When he looks up his eyes trail, slow and calculated, from my toes to the top of my head.
“Speaking of the prettiest girl in Abbott Hills.”
Pre-Noah, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Chase to say things like that. Before I really knew him, I lived for those comments. If I was the kind of girl that wrote in a diary, there would have been multiple entries that started off with “Today Chase called me ________.”
All it took was watching him talk his way out of a detention with our high school English teacher—who was old enough that she probably taught Shakespeare himself—for me to realize he’s like that with everyone. Not just me. Chase Merrimack is the damn king of smooth talking.
As I dramatically let my eyes roll to the back of my head, I take a spot on the couch next to Chase. Following his eyes, which now are fixated on two pages full of pictures of me, him, and our friends from the night of our high school senior prom. Just like I thought.
“The twenty-four hours leading up to this night were the most stressful ones of my life,” I remember out loud.
“I never would have known. You seemed so cool with it.” Chase shrugs, looking over and grinning before turning back to the scrapbook. “I can’t say I’m sad about the way things turned out though.”
There are two professional photographs on the left page. The top photograph is a group shot of nine teenagers lined up, each one linked in arm with another. Scanning the line of five boys and four girls makes my heart happy. Each of the four girls in the photograph is wearing the same all black, lace-bodice ball gown with small tank sleeves and a full, pleated satin skirt. The four boys all in shiny dress shoes, a tuxedo, and a black bow tie.
The line starts with my cousin Travis and Kinley, who is also linked to my brother. It’s crazy to think Kinley and Davis had only been together for a few months at that point. Kinley’s step-sister Cole stands next to Davis, her other arm linked with Kenny Finnigan, Davis’s best friend. My cousin Ellis stands on the other side of Kenny, arm in arm with Tucker Merrimack. Wrapping up the line on the right-hand side are me and Chase.
Any time these pictures resurface, Tucker and I go back and forth about who got the better spot in line. He’ll say it was him because he got to stand between the Capparelli girls, but I know it was me in between the two Merrimack brothers.
The photographer had been surprised when we told him we had the same dress on purpose. While most girls were trying to find something that would make them stand out, Kinley, Cole, Ellis, and I chose to pick something that would unify us instead. Despite begging and pleading from my aunt, Zia Kat, for each of us to do something different with our hair, we all agreed on the same simple halo braid, textured bun up-do too.
Prom was a big deal for the Capparelli family that year since there were four of us going. My dad even took the day off from work, which is something I can honestly say I had never seen him do before that day. Even when he takes sick days, he’s on the phone making sure orders are in and setting up appointments with future clients. My aunt closed her salon at three that afternoon, despite having desperate pleas for afternoon appointments.
“Everyone else can make an appointment before then. It’s not every night your only daughter, your God-child, and their best friends go to prom,” she had said when she invited me, Kinley, and Cole to come with Ellis to get our hair done.
When she flat-out refused to take any money from Kinley’s mom for doing Kinley and Cole’s hair and nails, three oversized chocolate covered fruit bouquets were delivered to the salon. My adorable father stopped in shortly after we got there with a pallet of sparkling mineral water and corsages made with roses from my grandfather’s garden for each of us. My grandparents decorated the banquet room in the restaurant and had a three course dinner prepared for us and the fellas before we left for the dance in a stretch Hummer paid for by Kenny’s mom. Thinking about how spoiled we were that day makes me smile and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“What are you so smiley about over there?” Chase asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just how everyone treated me, Kinley, Cole, and Ellis like princesses that day. Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of loved it.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the princess of prom,” he grins, pointing to a snapshot on the next page.
His finger hovers over the tiara that sits on top of the candid, completely baffled face of a seventeen-year-old me. We all know he pulled some serious strings to get us named Prom King & Queen. As far as I knew, my name hadn’t been in the running the entire month the senior class had to vote. God knows I certainly didn’t put in for it.
It was no surprise when Chase’s name was called. Everyone knew it would either be him or Alex, since Alex was the captain of the baseball team. The very last thing I expected was for my name to follow Chase’s and that is very clearly seen in every photo taken.
Since prom, I’ve asked him a hundred times how he pulled it off, but he never lets on that it was anything other than pure luck. No matter how many times he denies having anything to do with it, I’m certain his “luck” must be like how a volleyball “accidentally” found its way to his ex-girlfriend Brooklyn’s face after she made the mistake of loudly bragging about using him. If he didn’t fix the Prom Queen election, then I didn’t punch Brooklyn in the nose after I found out she was using him to gain social status. And for the record, I absolutely punched Brooklyn in the nose.
As if he can see the wheels spinning in my head, he closes the book, leaving it on the couch next to him. Offering his hand, I put mine in his. With a pulling motion he “helps” me off the couch, neither of us making any effort to let go once I’m upright. When he asks me if I just want to ride over with him, I begin to tell him that I’ll take my Jeep since I want to come home anyway, but I stop myself when I see the hopefulness in his eyes.
There’s nothin
g to say Chase can’t bring me back home later too. The truth of it is that Chase and I haven’t been able to hang out, just the two of us, in a very long time. I know this has nothing to do with me spending the night or drinking, but everything to do with being able to just be the two of us again. Even if just for a little while. So I tell him yes.
The synchronized pattern of our steps comes to a pause as I stop us to grab my clutch and keys off the breakfast bar. The wooden door leading outside was left open from Kinley and Davis walking out a few minutes before.
“What do you think the lovebirds are talking about?” I nod toward where they’re standing outside. Standing side by side, they’re squished up against each other, purposely speaking in hushed voices.
“Probably arguing about how I told them if we get dinner, or well, anything, under no circumstances were you to pay for yourself or for them to pay for you tonight,” Chase shrugs. “Your brother seems to think I'm acting like a caveman. Kinley thinks I’m a gentleman. So, yeah. It’s probably me, and well, you.”
“Chase Matthew! I don't need you to pay for me,” I start to argue, but he cuts me off before I can give him more reasons.
“Hollis Grace,” he smirks, mimicking my tone, before continuing, “I know you don't need me to. I want to. You just spent two years with someone who didn't make you a priority. It's just dinner. And I know I’m just your best friend, but I think, at least tonight of all nights, you could use a solid reminder of what it feels like when someone actually gives a damn about you.”
And there it is, folks. The moment we’ve been waiting for. Chase’s watered down version of the “I told you so” speech. As much as I want to be angry, his words hit me like a blow to my chest. Because dammit, he's right. I spent the better part of the last year being the one making all the plans and footing the bill most of the time because one of Noah’s many excuses for not making plans with me was money. If it wasn't his insane car payment—because you know, it makes perfect sense for someone who commutes to Boston for work daily to be driving a brand-new BMW—it was his need for not one, not two, but five different Armani suits for work. Funds were always “a little tight” when it came to planning date night, but he had no issue ordering a $1,500 brief case from Barneys New York.
When a few seconds pass and I have no response for him, Chase turns to face me, his voice softening when he all but pleads, “Just let me do this tonight, Hol. I don't know what else to do to make it better.”
“You're here,” I tell him. “I just need you to be here.”
Not waiting for an answer to that, I step down onto the porch, holding the screen door open for him. Pulling the old wooden door shut, I put the key into the doorknob and turn it, locking my apartment behind us. The moment I turn around, expecting to only see Chase, my brother, and Kinley, my stomach drops.
Before any of us can stop him, Davis pulls away from Kinley’s arms, clearing every step between my porch and the short concrete path that leads to the driveway. Looking back only to tell me and Kinley to stay on the porch, Chase follows him. Both my brother and Chase stand tall, with arms crossed, as if they’re the force fields separating Kinley and I from evil. And to be honest, that’s not much a stretch from the truth.
Separated only by my twin brother and best friend, I brace myself as the white BMW X5 that had pulled onto my street comes to a complete stop in front of my house. This night just officially turned into a shit show.
Chapter Four
Chase
It takes a whopping twenty seconds after me telling her not to come off the porch for Hollis to mimic her brother and clear the handful of steps in between the porch and the pavement. I guess I should have expected it though. Telling Hollis to do anything is pretty much asking for her to do the exact opposite.
Brushing past Davis standing with his arms crossed, she strategically places herself in between Davis and the car. When she turns around and demands he step back, pointing toward where Kinley is standing behind us, I realize this has nothing to do with Noah, but everything to do with keeping her brother out of trouble. Knowing it’s going to take more than Hollis’s demands for him to step back, I place my hand on Davis’s upper arm, patting three times. Nodding reluctantly, he steps back, acknowledging my silent reassurance that I’ll keep his sister safe.
As soon as she sees Davis step back, Hollis turns back toward the street. The patter of her feet rapidly tapping against the concrete below us is the only sound surrounding us as we wait for the driver of the BMW to cut the engine and step out. Right now, I need to dig deep, shut off my emotions, and focus on getting that car and its jackass of a driver to leave.
Davis won't do anything to put Hollis in jeopardy, but he had promised Noah that if he hurt his sister, he would kill him. Granted it was weeks after they started dating and we were all drunk at the Capparelli’s annual Labor Day weekend barbeque, but I’ve never known Davis to not follow through on his word.
So, as much as I would love to see that bastard face down in the dirt, the last thing that needs to come from this night is Davis reaping the repercussions of hurting a hair on Noah’s head. Hollis adores her brother and if anything happened that resulted in Davis losing his job or worse, she’d blame herself. I’ll be damned if I let him get to her though.
Before he even steps out of the car, I can already tell you what’s going to happen. He’s going to spew out a bunch of bullshit excuses and Hollis will let him try to justify it. That saint of a human I call my best friend believes the best in everyone. I’ve seen it so many times throughout the last two years. And like every time before this, she’ll hear him out. Not everyone deserves a second chance. Not everyone deserves to prove themselves. Noah is one of those people.
Glancing back to make sure Davis is with Kinley, he quickly nods his head up, urging me to take the last few steps next to his sister.
“Damn it, Hollis. Do you ever listen? To anybody? Ever?”
I expect her to fight with me, to tell me to fuck off, that she can handle herself. She shocks the hell out of me when she faces me and pleads not only with her voice, but with those big brown eyes, “Please stay here. I can handle Noah, but you know Davis isn’t about to let me fight this battle alone. Please stay here with me and don’t let Davis touch him.”
I feel my body loosen for a split-second, exhaling a deep breath; the tension and her protective stance coming back immediately after the breath leaves my body. The look on her face is one I've never seen in the entire time I've known her. Her eyes are dark and once again, focused ahead of us.
“I'm not going anywhere, Hurricane,” I say, my tone softening with my promise.
The corner of her mouth creeps up in a slight smile when I call her the nickname I’ve had for her since the first day we met. It disappears as fast as it came when the engine of the BMW shuts off. Hollis’s body quickly goes rigidly straight next to me. When she grabs my hand, I pause, taken back by her need for reassurance. Giving it a little squeeze to let her know I’m here, I rub my thumb against her index finger. The pulsating motion of her shaking hand in mine causes my blood to boil.
I’ve never seen her like this.
“I'm right here,” I lean over, whispering down to the top of her head. “You give me the word, I'll handle it.”
The slam of the car door causes me to snap my head back up. The man my best friend agreed to spend the rest of her life with calmly adjusts the jacket of his gray striped suit before even looking over at the woman he threw away. His face is void of any emotion as he runs his fingers through, and messing up, his perfectly styled volume of black hair.
“I should have known you'd be here,” he sneers at me, not even acknowledging Hollis once he starts walking over to us. “Chase Merrimack, swooping in like Prince fucking Charming.”
Not an “I'm sorry.” Not an explanation. No words that implicate that he's here to fight for her. He’s seriously using this opportunity, his one chance at potentially redeeming himself, to pick a fight with me
, of all people? He’s more of an asshole than I thought.
Fighting the urge to call him McDouchegal to his face is harder than I imagined. Little does he know Davis, Travis, Kenny, and I have been calling him that since we found out his last name. From day one, everything about him has always screamed douchebag. Every time Hollis managed to get him to come out with all of us, he was the asshole who made everything about money.
He had to buy the most expensive steak, the most expensive bottle of liquor. He barely ever joined in on conversations because everything was a pissing contest. We could be talking about football and he would turn the discussion into how much money his company bought out a sports brand contract for. He even walks like a douche. With his shoulders back, he sways his arms back like those assholes that brag that they have “swagger.” But, if being surrounded by the Capparelli men for half my life taught me anything, it’s that money doesn’t make the man and that swagger is all about what you do, not what you say.
What makes him the most douchey, is that we all know the only time he threw money around was when he had an audience. He didn’t use it to spoil Hollis behind closed doors. In fact, Mr. Big Shot had Hollis paying for everything when no one else was around. She would never have admitted that to me or any of the guys, but she did mention it to Kinley, who told Cole, which led to it getting back to the rest of us. I love our friends, but you can’t tell any one of them anything without expecting the “telephone game” effect to come into play right after.
“What are you doing here, Noah?” Hollis demands, pulling her hand from mine.
“Oh, come on, baby,” Noah croons as he reaches out for her. “It meant nothing. Put your ring back on so we can put this behind us.”
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I snap, sidestepping in front of Hollis to keep him from touching her.
