by Jo Raven
Angry at myself, embarrassed, I arrive at my meeting with Cassie in a foul mood.
As if I needed more reasons for that. Not the best day to hear Cassie’s explanations, but I can’t put it off.
Not forever.
She’s already sitting at the bar in Halo when I enter. Her pale hair gleams in the half-light, her cleavage seems to glow over the low cut of her black, lacy blouse. Long silver hoops glint on her ears.
That’s Cassie. Always a sex goddess, even when miserable.
She has always been my idol, since we were little and we dressed our Barbies in gowns and glittering dresses underneath the dining room table while our parents met to play cards.
That was before Mom and Dad split, and she left to France. This white streak I have in my hair, that’s from back then. I try to dye it, but the color never catches, always reminding me of that time. The sorrow, the tears, the tearing pain when my mom moved away.
Reminding me I wasn’t enough to keep them together. I’m never enough for anybody or anything.
“Manon!” Cassie waves at me, hopping off her stool, wobbling dangerously on her black stilettos. “Here.”
“Yeah.” I wave back and make my way to her, glancing right and left in case anyone we know is there.
Like Jesse’s buddies who barely talk to me as it is. Without me hanging out with the girl who forced herself on their friend. This place, Halo, is where they normally meet.
I should have told her to pick another bar. Too late now.
“What are you having?” She raises her tall glass at me. “Something exotic like me?”
“That looks pretty,” I say eyeing the blue and white concoction. “What is it?”
“Blue Lady.” She waves at the bartender who approaches with a big grin. Cassie always had men in her pocket.
Which makes me wonder why she went after the one man who clearly wasn’t interested. Was it some sort of challenge? A bet?
The bartender leans in, and she whispers something in his ear that makes him grin wider. “Coming right away,” he says and wanders off.
“What did you tell the man?” I drag a stool over to hers, shrug off my jean jacket, drape it over the seat and sit on it. “He looks way too pleased for someone asked to make an alcoholic drink for someone who’s underage. And he didn’t even ask for my ID. Has he seen yours?”
She just sips at her drink, smirking.
I shake my head and sigh.
“So that was it? Now we’re back to sunshine and roses again?”
She drops the straw back in the tall glass and narrows her blue eyes at me. “Jesus, Manon. Don’t I have the right to even smile anymore? Should I drag myself around on my knees and weep?”
“That could be a start,” I mutter, irritated at the world. At the dance school.
At Seth.
“Want me to be honest with you?” She swirls her straw in the blue drink, lashes lowered. “I feel like a leper. This is messed-up, how all of you are treating me. It was just a kiss for chrissakes.”
“A kiss Jesse didn’t want.”
“Then he should have shoved me off. Punched me.”
“Know what? Maybe he should have. Too bad he acted like a gentleman instead and just pushed you away.”
She slams the glass on the bar and gapes at me. “Why are you being such a bitch?”
“Come on, Cassie. You act like nothing happened. Like it wasn’t your fault. What do you expect, huh?”
The bartender chooses that moment to return with my drink, and we both back down until he’s gone—before which he takes the time to wink at Cassie and lick his lips.
Ugh. “That’s disgusting.”
“Oh, get off your high horse. Just because Fred is a pussy and won’t even kiss you doesn’t mean sexual men are disgusting.”
“Sexual men?” I glare at my drink. “You know what? I think this was a mistake.” I fish in my purse for money to pay the drink and go.
“Wait. Wait, okay?” She grabs my wrist, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am.” She squeezes my wrist, swallows hard. “I screwed up. I know it. And yes, I wish I could turn back time and undo my mistake. But it’s done. Can’t undo it, okay?”
“You could apologize to the people you hurt.”
“I tried.” She releases my wrist. “Tried talking to Evangeline, but she won’t talk to me. Tried contacting Jesse and Amber. They won’t answer my calls. Zane and his gang told me not to even think about approaching them.”
“Give it time.”
“I am.” She shakes her head, shakes out her long blond hair. “What do you think? It’s been over two months. And you barely talked to me until now.” She puts her hands palms-down on the bar. “I got the message, loud and clear. My presence is not wanted.”
“Cassie…” It’s my turn to reach out, cover her hand. “You were out of town for those two months. Only texted to tell me you were visiting family. What was I supposed to do?”
She swallows hard. “Yeah. Well, with everyone shunning me like the plague I had to get out. You weren’t returning my calls.”
“I was upset. And I had a lot of practice at the dance school.”
Trying to make up for my weaknesses and disadvantages by throwing myself into training, night and day.
And look what it got me: precisely nothing.
“Why did you do it, girl?” I pat her hand. “You can have any guy you want. You only have to look at them, for God’s sake, and they drop to their knees. Why Jesse?”
“Because…” She sighs. “I thought Jesse was my type, but I was wrong.”
“Green eyes don’t do it for you?”
“Not that.” She shrugs. “I thought he was only looking for a hook-up. And I wanted to protect Amber.”
“Seriously, Cassie?”
“Hey, he’s a manwhore. Or used to be.” She takes a sip from her drink, and her hand is shaking. “He never seemed to pay much attention who he slept with. I mean, hell, he slept with half the town. I never thought…”
“… that he was serious this time,” I finish for her.
Nobody did, apparently, from the comments I heard back then.
She nods.
“You really want me to believe you sacrificed yourself to protect Amber? It wasn’t like it hurt, kissing Jesse, was it?”
She says nothing.
Could she be telling the truth? She always flirts and takes boys home. If Jesse Lee slept with half the female population, she slept with half the male one.
But she’s never acted like this. Never tried to steal another girl’s boyfriend.
“Still not much of an excuse, you know,” I mutter.
“It’s all I got.” She frowns, pulls her hand away. “Didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“If you ever had a guy you loved, you’d be hurt if someone pulled that on you.”
“Like you would know,” she shoots back, giving me a hurt look. “What, spending a night with Seth gave you insights into love?”
What? I gape at her. “Seth? I barely know him.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at each other.”
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t get enough.” Her voice cracks. “Like you finally found each other and can’t believe how lucky you are. And you are, trust me. I should know.”
“Cass…” Crap, something’s really wrong here. I lean forward until I see her face, bowed over her drink. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“You asked for Seth’s phone number.”
“I was worried, and he’s not answering. Stop changing the topic.”
“What do you want me to say? I explained everything.” She pushes away her drink. “I just remembered I have to go.”
“Cass… Come on.”
“You don’t believe me. You don’t like me anymore. I get it. I never thought I’d lose every single friend over this. My best friend.” She huffs. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Just tell me the truth.”
She gathers her purse and totters away, leaving me alone, sad and confused. I’ve known Cassie most of my life. I don’t recall any indications of any secrets. Her parents didn’t get divorced like mine. Her two brothers are fine, studying out of town. She says she never wanted to hurt anyone—and that’s the Cassie I know. Carefree, fun, living life to the full but not selfish. Not like that.
What isn’t she telling me, and why?
***
I nurse my drink a while longer, trying to sort through my thoughts and the things Cassie said. All the things. About herself, about my role as a friend.
About Seth and what she said. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at each other.”
Whatever. I’m not calling Seth again. I’m deleting his number from my phone. Deleting our meeting, violent as it was. Deleting him.
In any case, I’m in love with Fred, so it’s not like I need to see Seth again, hear his voice.
Of course not. Checking in with the guy you almost hit with your car is common courtesy.
So I’m done. Curling up on my sofa to watch Supernatural reruns sounds like the only thing to do right now, to take my mind off this crappy beginning to the week.
I pay for my drink—and Cassie’s—and grab my jacket to go. I’ll call her tomorrow, I decide, ask for a rematch. A coffee and some more talking. Maybe I can tease some more answers out of her. Understand her.
Get my friend back.
As I weave my way through the thickening crowd, lost in thought, I bump into someone and stumble backward. Thank God I’m not wearing Cassie’s stilettos, I think, catching my balance, wincing as my ankle sends warning twinges up my leg, and wave off the guy’s apologies.
And turn around to go only to spot a familiar face.
Zane, the tattoo artist with the tall blue Mohawk I saw this morning, the one who hinted that Seth needed a friend.
He’s got his girl with him, sitting on his lap, his arm around her. They’re on my path to the exit, and as I walk toward them, a tall, blond guy approaches them. He starts talking to Zane, head bowed, hands in pockets. Earnest. Nervous enough that his shoulders jump from time to time.
“He insists it wasn’t a hit-and-run,” the guy is saying, and he lifts his face as I come closer, cat-like, golden eyes taking me in. “But he’s got a concussion all right. Not too bad, though. Doc said not to leave him alone tonight, because his balance is shot and with his leg hurting it could be bad.”
I stop in my tracks. Cat-eyed man is watching me intently, and Zane follows his gaze to me.
“Manon?” he says, a question in his voice.
I glance from him to the other guy and back. “Are you talking about Seth?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He gestures at the other man. “Rafe was with him. Said someone almost hit Seth last night. Know anything about it?”
“It was me,” I whisper. “I didn’t hit him, but he slipped and fell.”
The tall man, Rafe, takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, my heart hammering. “You left him there?” he demands to know.
“Of course not!” Anger flares, warming my chest and neck. “I offered to take him to hospital, and he refused. It was raining hard. So I took him to my place.”
“Your place.” Zane’s girl is staring at me, wide blue eyes, so much like Cassie’s, assessing me.
“He had trouble walking. I have some experience with leg injuries, and I wanted to see if I could help. Gave him dry clothes, made him some dinner. He slept on the couch.”
In case you were wondering.
Zane’s dark eyes narrow. “That why you were asking about him this morning, huh?”
I nod, the heat rising to my face. “I was worried. Got his phone number, but he won’t answer.”
“He’s been throwing up non-stop,” Rafe says. “And I don’t know where his cell is. Hasn’t been a good day for Seth.” He turns back to Zane. “I’ll cancel the rehearsal we have tonight and go stay with him tonight, give Shane and Ocean a break.”
“I’ll move the rehearsal to another day, no problem,” Zane’s girl says. “The group will understand.”
“The concert is on Saturday,” Zane says. “I’ll go stay with him, so you two can go and practice your new songs. It’ll be fine.”
“I’ll stay with him,” I hear myself saying and stop.
What am I saying?
Zane lifts a pierced brow at me. “You will?”
“It’s only fair. I mean, I’m the reason he’s not well, and…” And what? “And I have the time. If he doesn’t mind.”
Oh God. Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Still not sure he wants to see me again—and now knowing I caused more damage than I originally thought…
“Let me call Ash. He’s been with the guys since the afternoon,” Rafe says and turns his back to us, pulling out his cell.
“You sure you can handle it?” Zane asks, his clever eyes missing nothing. “If he’s dizzy, or puking. He’s a big guy, tall and heavy. Maybe I should ask Micah to stay with you.”
“Okay.” I tug on the strap of my purse, chew on my lip. “Or maybe I should let you guys handle it.”
“He’ll be glad to have you there,” Zane’s girl says unexpectedly, and I finally recall her name. Dakota. “Trust me. He likes you, and the guys can get heavy-handed. When you’re sick, it’s nice to have a woman by your side.”
Why doesn’t she go, then? Or any of the other girls in the group?
“He likes you.”
Funny how those words make my heart beat faster instead of calming it down.
“Yeah, got it,” Rafe mutters, the cell held to his ear, as he turns to face us and gives a thumbs-up. “I’ll tell her. Yeah, she’s here. Yes, I am talking about Manon, dumbass.”
I swallow hard, so nervous you’d think I’m auditioning for a role in a huge production. “Tell me what?”
He stretches out his hand, offering me his cell. “Ash wants to talk to you.”
Great.
I take the cell, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “This is Manon.”
“Hey. Rafe tells me you’d stay with Seth tonight?” He sounds like he’s walking, his voice rising and dipping with each step. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Thought you should know he’s been dizzy and throwing up. We got some Dramamine into him, so hopefully that will stop, but just in case… Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I nod to myself. “Did you ask him if he’s okay with it?”
“Girl, was there ever a doubt?” Asher laughs and hangs up.
Huh. What does that mean?
Frowning, I return the cell phone to Rafe. “Guess it’s all set, then.”
“I’ll call Micah,” Zane says. “And Jesse. One of the fuckers will be there, for sure, and Manon?” He smiles when I look at him, his dark eyes brightening. “Thanks.”
***
I’m nervous.
Why am I so nervous? Seth obviously okayed my coming to his place, or I wouldn’t be standing on the street outside his building, wringing my hands together and shivering in my light jacket.
Unsure of myself. Of being here. Of seeing Seth again. The memory of his face, the rasp of his voice, it all has me confused.
He likes me.
I like him, too. So that’s why I’m here. Guilt sure played a role as well, but above all… Above all I want to see if I feel the same way today. That comfort, that ease, that warmth I felt when he was there.
Like everything in my life fit together. Like I fit in, for the first time. His interest, his concern, his presence made me feel good. Same way I’ve always felt with Cassie… only different.
But that’s because he’s a guy, I tell myself as I finally find the nerve to buzz his apartment. I don’t have many guy friends. Used to, at school, but haven’t seen them in a while. That’s what’s different.
Been training so hard I’ve been de-boyed. Can’t remember
what it’s like to be around them. Time to change all that.
After climbing up the second flight of stairs, I find the door to the apartment half-open. It has a sticker on it—a snake, and below in print ‘Damage Control.’
Micah is standing at the opening. I recognize him immediately—the short, blond hair and sky-blue eyes.
“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly and opens the door wider. “He has a bad headache. No loud noises, no bright lights.”
I enter into the dim interior, and he closes the door behind me. It’s a small living room with an old TV set and a worn brown sofa. Dirty dishes are lying on a low table, interspersed with a half-full ashtray, a remote control, glasses and mugs. There’s a bunched-up blanket on the sofa, and a pair of boots lies under the table.
“Shouldn’t we call his family?” I ask as we both hover there. “Maybe they’ll want to be here for him.”
“Seth has no other family,” Micah says. “Not anymore. Just us.”
I want to say something, but the words catch in my throat. Something twists in my chest.
“This way,” Micah cuts through my thoughts and gestures at a door opening to the side of the room. “He’s in the bedroom.”
My feet feel heavy. I drag them through the doorway, my nervousness turning into panic.
Seth is there, lying on top of the covers on the single bed, fully dressed, an arm thrown over his eyes. At first I think he’s asleep, but then he shifts and lifts his arm.
His face is pale. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are dry and cracked.
Crap. This is my fault. My chest feels heavy as I sit on the bed beside him.
He squints at me, his gaze a little hazy. I look at him, and all I can think of is that I didn’t know guys could have such long and thick lashes. Or such pretty eyes.
Wow, that was random.
Or was it? He’s looking at me, and I’m gaping at him like an idiot. Say something, Manon. What the hell? That never happens to you with Fred.
“Hi,” I say.
Deep statement. Well-thought-out. Engaging.
So not.
