Page 50 of Jaded

I lift Charlie’s bottle, like drinking straight vodka isn’t an occupation I buried in the past a good ten years ago, and gulp. For an instant, I’m the old Nat, celebrating another day that the ice and the cold and the dark haven’t claimed me.

“Taylor!” A hand claps down on my shoulder, and I spin to face the new arrival. Devereaux.

“Dev?” Shit, the vodka’s already making my head buzz.

“Nat!” he hollers over the cacophony of music and voices. I feel like I’ve been pulled from a dream and plunked down in the middle of a hot, wet washing machine spin cycle.

His hand stays on my shoulder, hot and steadying, as he leans in to yell in my ear. “You gotta come . . . I think you know this kid?”

The words are like a bolt of lightning through my every sense, every nerve. There are only two kids he could possibly be talkingabout—Avery or Syd. The idea of the latter being involved with this party slams sobriety over me like a bucket of icy water.

“What kid?” I shout over the music and voices. The buzz of booze wars against my control. My mind yearns to float off to distant places where I can’t grab it back. “Where?”

I don’t know if he hears me or simply reads the worry etched across my face; it digs its way into my gut in sharp claws of panic.

“Over here.”

“Here?” Any traces of inebriation vanish into the ether as those words hit home.

Dev’s already walking, and I hurry to catch up. He parts the crowd with his broad shoulders, leaving me a wide wake through the kitchen.

Avery Bennett stands in the middle of said kitchen, hips leaning back against the stove. He grins at a woman beside him who I’m sure doesn't realize he’s eighteen.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter. My heart’s racing. I’ve got one eye on him and one roving the crowd like I might actually spot a five-two female. “Avery. The hell’re you doing here?”

His gaze snaps to me, and the girl turns too. Both of their eyes round with surprise, but Avery never loses his smile. “Hey, Nat.”

“Is Syd here?” I turn to the girl at Avery’s side, and I must be glaring because her brows shoot up defensively. “He’s eighteen, and he has a girlfriend.”

She backs away real fucking fast.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Avery whines, which just tells me he was probably buying something from her. “I’m just trying to have some fun—”

“Where’s Syd?” I curl my fingers around his shoulder to pull him from the stove. He sways, stumbles, so I wind my arm around him to keep him up. “Tell me she’s not here.”

Avery giggles, which is not a good sign.

At that moment, a five-foot-two black-haired green-eyed girl pops through the crowd, and my heart plummets to the floor.

“Av—” She freezes solid when she sees who’s holding her extremely intoxicated boyfriend upright.

I force a smile. “Hey, Syd.”

“Um.” Her face pales, and her hands swipe down the thighs of her jeans, like she’s wiping sweat from suddenly clammy palms. “Hi . . . um, Dad.”

“Shit.” Half draped over my shoulders, Avery giggles again. “This is awkward.”

“Have you been drinking too?” I demand, my eyes never leaving my daughter. “Jesus, do you have any idea the kind of fucked-up shit people do at these parties?”

“How else’m I s’posed to find out?” Avery mutters. Syd, to her credit, doesn’t appear to be stumbling or swaying. She curls into Avery’s other side.

“Christ.” I nudge through the throngs of people, headed towards the door. I have no idea what my plan is. “I can’t drive you home. I’ve been drinking.”

“Then let me stay.”

“No. Fuck.” I bite down a groan, my head spinning too fast because I’m fighting hard for sobriety. Critical thinking isn’t a drunkard’s strong suit, is it? “I’ll have to call Brenda.”

“No.” Avery groans, and then promptly adds. “I’m gonna puke.”

---