Storm

by Brigid Kemmerer

  This burn was twice as nice.

  Some people from the living room were whistling now. She shut her eyes and felt her body waver, as if a wind had whipped through the hallway.

  When she opened them, he’d come around the table and was holding another shot in front of her. She could smell him now, liquor and smoke and male sweat. His voice turned low and taunting. “Let’s see you get that down your throat.”

  A hand reached out and took it before she could. “Let’s not.”

  Hunter.

  She meant to turn, to confront him. Her legs had a different idea. She stumbled and the room tilted sideways. She knew she was falling, but her brain couldn’t get it together to do anything about it. She probably should have eaten dinner.

  Hunter caught her. She heard the shot glass rattle on the hardwood of the foyer.

  Her veins were still burning. Her knees wouldn’t lock to hold her upright.

  Hunter glared over her shoulder. “What is that, tequila?”

  “Dude, it’s not like I held her down—”

  “Stop it,” she said, not wanting to hear any more talk of being held down. She tried to shrug out of Hunter’s hands. The music was still slamming into her body with every beat. “Lemme go. I just want—I need my keys—”

  “Here.” He backed her up until she was leaning against the molding between the hallway and the living room, then let her go. He looked at the guy with the shot glasses. “Get her a cup of water or something.”

  She braced her hands behind her on the wall and stared up at Hunter. She couldn’t figure out his expression, whether he was disgusted, or disappointed, or exasperated.

  Maybe Quinn was right. Maybe she was going about this all wrong.

  “Where’s Quinn?” she said.

  “I told her to give me a second.”

  Traitor.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” At least her voice wasn’t slurring yet, but everything felt warm. “Now I’m all liquored up. You didn’t even have to work for it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why would I want you trashed?”

  “You’re a guy, right? Isn’t that why you asked me here?”

  He glanced away and sighed.

  “See.” She reached out and poked him in the chest. Hard. “Monica told you about me. About Drew. That’s why you brought me here.”

  “Damn. You’re on to me.” He was untying one of the twine bracelets from his wrist.

  His words drew her up short. “Wait. What?”

  He got one bracelet free and held it between his fingers as he untied another. He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The movement of his fingers had her spellbound. What was he doing?

  “Monica talks too much,” he said. “I stopped listening.” He was on to a third bracelet, and he didn’t look at her. “Besides, I prefer to figure things out for myself.”

  Shot Glass Kid showed up with a plastic cup. “Here. Drew will shit if she pukes in the hallway.”

  That made her want to stick her finger down her throat right there.

  Hunter took the cup and held it out to her. His eyes leveled with hers. “Drink.”

  She took the cup and sipped. Water did nothing to tame the inferno in her stomach.

  He reached out and started tying one of the bracelets around her wrist.

  She was so startled that she let him. “What are you doing?”

  The silvery black stone strung on the twine fell against her skin, smooth and cool. It cut through the fire better than the water had. “This is hematite. For anxiety.” His voice turned wry. “And clarity of thought.”

  “It’s a rock.” But the tequila did seem to be having less effect.

  The corner of his mouth quirked, and he started tying another one. His fingers were gentle and warm against her wrist. “Amethyst. It does a lot of things, but really, I’m just trying to take the edge off so you can walk.”

  He was walking around with a hunk of amethyst on a piece of twine? “You’re giving me a bunch of rocks?”

  “Not giving.” He glanced up. “Loaning.”

  “What, are you afraid you’ll be off balance?”

  “Something like that.” He tied the third bracelet. “Quartz. To help the other two.”

  She looked down at the three stones on her wrist and wasn’t quite sure what to say. She sure didn’t feel drunk now. Just a buzz.

  She touched her finger to the stones, and new awareness was bringing heat to her cheeks. She felt like a freak. It was probably a miracle he was still standing in front of her.

  Then again, he was the one tying on rock bracelets. She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “Don’t tell me. You read Tarot cards, too?”

  “Mock all you want. You feel better, right?”

  She did. Standing in the hallway in this house full of people, with R&B music so loud it seemed part of her body, he somehow made her feel like they stood alone in the middle of a field. At night, under a silent moon.

  Becca had to take a deep breath.

  “I didn’t realize coming here would upset you,” he said.

  She shrugged and looked down into the cup of water. “It’s all right.”

  “My father used to tell me something, when people would screw with me,” he said. His voice got kind of quiet, and she had to lean in to hear him.

  People used to screw with him? He seemed so ... untouchable. Above it.

  She didn’t want to hear some sentimental pep talk, either. But his father had died, and whatever the words were, they were important to Hunter.

  “What?” she said.

  “Fuck ’em.”

  Her head shot up. The edge of a smile played on his lips, but she could read the emotion in his eyes.

  “It helps,” he said.

  Fuck ’em. She smiled. It did help.

  She looked up at him, standing so close. Her pulse picked up. She licked her lips. “I think I’m going to go ... ah ... straighten up.”

  He took a step back and grinned. “You all right to walk?”

  Becca straightened and pushed off the wall. Her head still swam, but her legs felt steady. Mostly.

  “Yeah.” She took a step into the hallway. Then another. The water in her cup didn’t even slosh.

  “Thanks for the magic rocks,” she called over her shoulder.

  As she turned the corner, she banged into something hard. Her eyes saw the blue shirt first, then the spread of water across a male chest. He swore.

  She recognized the voice and jerked her eyes up.

  She’d just soaked Chris Merrick.

  CHAPTER 11

  Chris looked pissed.

  “Holy crap,” Becca whispered. The entire front of his shirt was wet.

  “Pretty much.” He pulled the fabric away from his chest and sighed. “At least it’s water.”

  She felt a little light-headed. She wrapped her hands around the cup, like it could somehow keep her upright. “What’s wrong—you can’t freeze it in midair?”

  His eyes snapped to hers, suddenly fierce and intimidating. “What did you just say?”

  She sucked in a breath. Her voice wouldn’t work.

  Then she started giggling. It was somehow hilarious in the way things only are when you’re drunk. She thought of Taylor out front. At least she wasn’t rolling in the grass. “You’re lucky I’m not shorter,” she said. “It could have been a whole different look for you.”

  He backed off a little. “Glad to amuse you.”

  She couldn’t stop laughing. She had to put a hand on the wall. “You should thank me for my aim.”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you drunk?”

  “I’m not supposed to be. I have magic rocks.” She held up her hand, still giggling.

  “What are you even talking about?”

  The tone of his voice threw her again, and she stopped laughing. She fought for true mental clarity, finding herself focusing on the cool dark stone on her wrist.<
br />
  “Becca.” Hunter appeared at her side. “You all right?”

  Chris glanced at him, and his expression wasn’t friendly. “Does this look like it’s any of your business?”

  “Since she’s here with me, yeah, it does.”

  Chris looked startled, then glanced at her. His blue eyes turned hard and flat like slate.

  Why the hell was she standing here feeling guilty about it?

  Becca shook off the weight of his eyes, and touched Hunter’s arm. “Look. It’s my fault. I ran into him with the water.”

  Chris didn’t say anything, but she saw him glance at her hand.

  She pulled it back and stood there helplessly for a moment, feeling tension thicken the air.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

  Chris set his jaw. His shoulders tightened.

  She couldn’t move. The whole moment had a surreal quality to it, Chris and Hunter glowering at each other over her head. Over her.

  A voice called from down the hallway. “Hey. Chris.”

  One of the twins. She didn’t know which. Of course they’d all be here—Gabriel played on the soccer team.

  Chris didn’t turn his head. “Yeah?”

  “We’re going out back to shoot hoops with Mark and Drew. You coming?”

  Her breath caught, just for a second, as if the mere mention of Drew’s name held power over her.

  For a long moment, Chris didn’t move. But then he glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “Yeah. Sure.” He took a step back and started to turn.

  She let out a breath she didn’t remember holding. “I’m really sorry about your shirt,” she called.

  He didn’t even look back. His voice was mild. “Already over it, Becky.”

  The way he said it was like a pinch in the arm.

  Bastard. She scowled.

  Hunter was watching Chris walk away. She touched his arm. “Come on. Let’s find Quinn.”

  Her friend was dancing in the living room, her eyes closed, her arms over her head, moving as though the music were making love to her.

  Apparently, Becca wasn’t the only one who thought so, because two guys were dancing alongside her. Becca didn’t recognize either one of them.

  The trio wasn’t lacking for an audience, either.

  “Quinn seems lonely,” said Hunter. He’d grabbed some sodas from somewhere and was holding out a sweating can. She took it.

  Quinn thrust her hips with the beat, then smacked the insides of her thighs.

  Becca winced. “I’ve never seen her do that before—”

  “You sure?” Hunter’s voice at her shoulder was dry. “That looks kind of practiced.”

  “Hey.” She glared at him.

  He shrugged and took a draw from his can. “Just saying.”

  The guy behind Quinn moved closer. He stood a head taller than she did, with dark skin, maybe Middle Eastern or Hispanic—it was too dark for Becca to tell for sure. He put strong hands on Quinn’s hips and pulled her back.

  Becca stiffened. She’d punch a guy for grabbing her like that. But her friend smacked his hands playfully and spun away from him, giving him a pouty look and shaking her head.

  Becca caught her eye. You okay? she mouthed.

  Quinn nodded, making it work with the beat. He’s hot, she mouthed, fanning herself while her back was to the guy.

  The song changed. Quinn held out a hand, a clear invitation.

  Hunter leaned in to speak over the bass line. “You want to dance?”

  Becca drew back and rubbed her neck, his closeness making her flush. “Not now. It’s kind of hot in here.”

  “Let’s go for a walk then.”

  The outside air felt ten degrees colder than it really was. Wind blew across the water to ruffle her hair and whisper across her skin. The entire back patio was surrounded by white holiday lights, opening to a path illuminated by tiki torches, just like she remembered it. Some guys were grilling burgers, though they seemed more interested in turning the tongs into a branding iron—then chasing each other with it. At the far end of the patio, there was a short break of grass before the landscaping revealed the end of the driveway—where eight or nine guys were doing more roughhousing than playing basketball.

  It was too dark to make out Drew, and she didn’t look too hard.

  Becca gestured in the opposite direction. “Let’s walk down by the water.”

  “Sure.” He hung close. “You won’t be too cold?”

  She’d probably be freezing, but she didn’t want to stand here in the patio lights, waiting for Drew to notice her. “I’m good.”

  They walked toward the water. The sand was tight and hard beneath her feet, reluctantly giving way to her heels. She wrapped her arms across her stomach, regretting the inch of flesh that the cropped top revealed.

  Hunter steered her to the far side of one of the fire drums where some folding chairs sat empty. There were other kids there, too, mostly seniors, no one she knew. Voices were hushed, beer bottles pushed into the sand haphazardly. At the fire drum a bit farther down, some kid had a guitar.

  Hunter pulled two chairs together, and she sat, grateful for the fire licking heat across her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.

  Water lapped at the sand ten feet away. She fingered the rocks strung along her wrist, running her thumb over the sharp edge of one, the rough side of another. She couldn’t tell which was which from the feel, except the hematite, which was smooth and round. Her fingers kept seeking that one, rolling the slick stone between her knuckles.

  Becca fixed her eyes on the fire, suddenly aware he was looking at her. “So—are you into a lot of ... ah, new age stuff?”

  “Not really.” He sounded amused.

  “How do you know so much about the rocks?”

  “I grew up with it.” He paused, as if he planned to say more, then thought better of it.

  She glanced over at him, studying his profile. His lips were parted slightly, and the fire had turned his green eyes almost golden, sparking light from the rings in his brow.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.

  “No, I don’t mind. I just want to explain it the right way.” He fingered one of the rocks on his own arm, the way she’d been doing with hers. She wondered if he sought a particular one.

  When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “You have a favorite color, right?”

  “Blue,” she said without thinking.

  “Always, right?” he said. “You just like it. No one ever made you like blue.”

  “Sure.” She thought about it for a moment. “A favorite color is a hard thing to screw with.”

  “All right then.” He glanced over. “You ever walk through a jewelry store and find you’re really drawn to something? Like maybe you’re into platinum, where someone else likes gold, or you like emeralds, while someone else might prefer sapphires?”

  Becca nodded. She was personally drawn to amethyst, but since it was one of the stones he’d strung on her wrist, she didn’t want to volunteer that.

  “My mother believes everything in existence has a consciousness,” he said. “An awareness. As in, maybe it’s not what you like.” He reached out and touched her finger, which was still resting on the hematite. “Maybe it’s what favors you.”

  His touch stole her voice. She watched the fire flicker across his cheeks.

  A smile found his lips, and he drew back. “When I was little,” he said, “my mother had a box of stones like these. All different kinds. She’d let me play with them.”

  He was playing with them now, absently lining the remaining stones up along his wrist.

  “When I turned six,” he said, “she told me to pick the ones I needed, because she was putting the rest away forever. I told her I wanted them all, but she told me that would make me sick.” He laughed a little and looked away, almost sheepishly. “Like too much candy, right?”

  “Sure.” She had no idea what he was talking abou
t.

  Hunter smiled and leaned close, over the arm of his chair. “Don’t patronize me.”

  She blushed and fumbled for words. “So these are the ones you chose?”

  “Nah.” He rolled back in the chair and held his arm up to the light. “These, I picked up at Hot Topic when I got the piercings done—” He noticed her look and grinned. “I’m screwing with you. Yeah. I picked these.” He sobered. “Or Mom likes to say they picked me.”

  It should have sounded ridiculous. It didn’t.

  “What do the other stones mean?”

  Firelight caught his eyes and made them flash gold. “You’ll have to do more than down a few shots to find out.”

  Her heart kicked against her ribs until she was sure it wanted her to jump into his lap. Wind peeled off the water to bite across her skin. She felt herself leaning, resting her weight on the arm of the chair.

  He was drifting, too, and she found her eyes tracing his lips, the line of his jaw, the odd markings along his neck.

  A dog jumped in between them. And barked.

  She almost came out of her skin. Her foot sent the can of soda shooting across the sand. Gooseflesh sprang to life on her arms.

  Casper. He barked again. Then spun in a circle.

  “What?” she said. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Platz, Casper,” said Hunter. The dog just barked and backed up.

  “What’s wrong?” She couldn’t tell her body to turn off the adrenaline, and she gave a nervous giggle. “Is Timmy down the well again?”

  “I don’t know.” Hunter stood and put a hand on the dog’s head, but Casper just backed away and turned to face down the darkened part of the beach. Then growled.

  She stood to look, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

  She edged closer to Hunter. “Do you think—”

  “Shh.” He was staring, too. Casper kept growling.

  Then she saw it, tall figures walking down the beach, coming their way, still well beyond the next fire drum. Men. She saw the glow of a cigarette.

  They were talking, their voices carrying, though she couldn’t get any words yet.

  She stood frozen, feeling danger though she couldn’t identify why. Casper ran in circles around them, stopping every lap to growl.