Page 51 of Limbo

He pours us another.

And another.

At first, I can’t get past Trey, but he miscalculates, and I dart by. Once I hit the grass, nothing can stop me. I run across the lawn and into the street, scooping down to collect rocks. The handful of gravel spatters across the rear window of Kevin’s sheriff’s cruiser. He slams on the brakes, and in the other direction I go.

“Cal!” Trey shouts. As I run up the steps, he opens the screen door and says, “Hide her.”

Tony tugs me through the house to a closet and shuts us both inside. We giggle in the dark, him more so than me. My ankle turns when I step on something, and I stumble into him. He sets me upright, his hold firm on my shoulders.

“Fuck, Henders,” he says, his hands falling away. “You smell too damn good, and I’m too damn drunk to be in here with you.”

The light blinds me as he opens the accordion door, steps out, and closes it behind him. Kevin’s voice bellows through the house, others yelling back at him. He needs to hurry and leave before I pass out. I yawn, lowering myself to the floor—a poor combination, given my lack of coordination. My balance fails, and I fall the rest of the way. My hand flies to my mouth to mute the laughter bubbling out. I haven’t been this drunk in a really long time.

Outside the closet, all the voices stop, except for one. It slices through me but not in the satisfying way it once did. No, this is more of an I-never-wanted-to-hear-that-voice-again kind of way. Even so, my pulse skyrockets.

A shadow appears in the strip of light on the floor. The door folds open, and there he is, staring down at me.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Brock drags me to my feet and right into his arms.

“No one told me you were back,” I mumble against his shirt, fighting the automatic urge to hug him back.

The feel of him, the smell of him—everything about him is so familiar and yet completely foreign to my current life.

“I would have called, but…”

I changed my number over the summer, clean break and all. Other than Trey and the rest of my family, no one from here has the new one.

Brock releases me but stays close, intense brown eyes threatening to melt me. “God, I fucking missed you,” he says, pushing hair away from my face.

I’m trying to remember the last time I saw him. Not long after our official breakup since he moved away a few months later. Given our history, I can assume the encounter included a fight. Toward the end, that’s all we ever did. Fight and fuck. The former with each other, the latter not always.

He guides me to the living room with his hand on my back. I sit on the couch, still in shock, and stare at him. Longer blond hair and a piercing in his eyebrow are new, but the air of confidence and the cocky grin remain unaltered. He screams arrogant asshole. He has since the moment we met. At least now, I can clearly identify the traits.

With him being here, the entire scene unfolding comes straight out of the past. The group’s dynamic seamlessly shifts back in time, everyone returning to the role they once played. Brock brings me a drink and sinks down on the cushion next to me. Trey hovers around us, acting as my protector. His eye and cheek are both showing the discoloration of an oncoming bruise. Across the room, Tony and Pete smoke a bowl. Both laugh, probably at different things, neither funny. A few people gathered in the doorway part to let Shayna through. She dances her way into the middle of the room, swaying to a seventies rock ballad.

We’ve done it all before, more times than I can count. I half-expect to sleep through homeroom alongside Tony in the morning.

“It’s after one,” Trey says. “We should get you back to Graham’s.” He takes the drink from my hand, but Brock grabs the cup from him.

“I don’t think she’s ready to deal with dear ole daddy yet.” He secures his arm around me, holding me closer to his side. “What shit did he pull this time?”

I don’t answer him, my hazy mind drifting to thegoodnighttext Jordan undoubtedly sent to the phone that’s shut off and hidden somewhere in Graham’s bedroom. Without even knowing it, the man ripped away the only thing resembling stability in my life. The one thing I can count on despite everything else I can’t. He’s taken away too much and left me with nothing but an unwavering hatred for him.

I notice the tear rolling down my cheek when Brock wipes it away. I wish he hadn’t because it’s the only one.

“Uh-oh, guys. My baby needs cheering up. We might need a trip to the farm.”

Tony and Pete punch at the air and drunkenly chant, “To the farm.”

“Brock, no.” Trey crosses his arms over his chest, standing taller, even though he already has everyone beat. “She’s going back to school tomorrow. Plus, she’s seeing someone.”

“Jordan,” I say. “His name’s Jordan.”

Brock shifts next to me with an annoyed click in his jaw. I poke his cheek, and his expression reverses, his dimple forming beneath my finger.

A dangerous gleam enters his eye. “What do you say we make some bad life choices and get rid of some of that pent-up resentment? You know, for old times’ sake.”

Trey shakes his head. “You’re just pissed at Graham.”

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