Page 3 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

We all exit the mall to the upper-level parking garage, Dallas holding my hand while David and Blake walk ahead of us. They lead us over to a later-model Nissan that's got dark tinted windows, multiple stickers on the bumper, and a huge dent in the rear quarter panel. Blake takes the driver's door, David the front passenger, and Dallas and I crawl into the backseat.

"So, this party is supposed to be in some mansion or some shit; mostly college kids, but no one will say shit to us," Dallas tells me. "We're all eighteen."

Not me, I think, but I'm not about to tell him that. He doesn't ask, and I'm thankful.

Blake starts the car and a rap song I don't recognize comes on.

David drums his hands on the dashboard in quick succession and yells, "Yeah...spark that owl."

Dallas laughs and pops his hand on the back of David's headrest. "Hand me a stick, man."

I'm lost already, no clue what they're talking about. David reaches into the glove compartment, pulls something out, and hands it over his head to Dallas.

He takes it, reaches into his front pocket, and pulls out a lighter. Then he puts a thin white joint to his mouth and lights it. I stare in fascination as his cheeks hollow and the cherry on the end glows bright. It's not the first joint I've seen, because hell, the kids in my neighborhood stroll around in broad daylight smoking them, but it is the first time I've been in such close proximity.

Dallas holds the smoke in his lungs and exhales slowly, before passing it over to me with a wink. "Want a hit?"

I know I should pay attention to the warning bells going off inside my head, and the small tingle of fear in my belly, but then I think of Bryce calling me a kid and I know without a doubt I don't want to be viewed that way.

Besides...it's my sixteenth birthday and I deserve to have some fun. "You'll get me home by midnight, right?"

"Absolutely," he says with a broad grin.

I can't help it as I smile back, I take the joint from his hand, and bring it to my lips.

--

PRESENT TIME...

"That will be fifty dollars," the cab driver says, jolting me out of my memories. I turn my head to the right and see the familiar gray house of my childhood.

I pull my one and only credit card out of my wallet and swipe it through the digital reader attached to the seat in front of me. I wait for it to process and add a 15 percent tip, realizing that for the first time in forever I can use my card without worrying that it's going to max out.

Thanks, Beck. I really appreciate all the money you've given me to pay for school. It means I can actually afford things like a long cab ride out to Belle Haven.

I thank the cabbie and exit the vehicle, trudging up the sidewalk. I'm weary and I'm sad and this is the only place I thought to come. My apartment is foreign to me, having left that life firmly behind when I committed to moving in with Beck. It didn't seem right to go there, and all I could think about was crawling into my bed and sleeping away my misery.

Tomorrow I'd look at things with a fresh eye and a clear heart, and figure out where to go from there. I suppose I'd need to go back to my apartment, and hope that Beck will quickly deliver my clothes so I can have something to wear. I also need my phone, and I have class tomorrow at one P.M., but I'm thinking of skipping. Right now my heart isn't into anything except sleep.

I pull my keys out, locate the one I need, and open the door. Dad and Maria are both at work, and I'm glad. I don't think I can handle the questions that would inevitably come as to why I was showing up out of the blue in the middle of the day. I'll deal with them when they get home.

For now, I drop my purse onto the small side table beside the couch, dumping my keys inside. I walk back to my bedroom, which really doesn't look like my bedroom anymore. It still has my bed and dresser, but nothing left of the high school girl who once lived here. Maria's sewing machine sits on my old desk where I used to write in my journal.

I toe off my shoes and pull the covers back on the bed. I crawl in, pull them up over my head, and close my eyes. I try not to think of Beck, but that's virtually impossible. He was so many things to me in such a short period of time. He was a new life.

A fresh start.

A possibility I thought I'd never have.

But right now, he's the man who just broke me.

I pull up to William Halstead's house in Belle Haven, put the car in park, and cut the ignition. My pulse is hammering, my throat is dry, and my palms are sweating.

That's because Sela's in that house and I have no clue if I can fix what I just so carelessly broke several hours ago.

I've been going out of my mind all day with worry about her. I went to her apartment and I waited.

For three hours.

She never showed.

I went back to the condo, hoping she'd come there.

She never came.

At my wit's end, I dialed information and got the home number for William Halstead. Thank fuck he had a landline in a day and age when most people only had cell phones. I called three times, hanging up each time the answering machine came on. He finally answered an hour ago.

"Hello," he'd said in a booming voice.

"William...it's Beck North," I feel compelled to identify myself because even though we've met that one time before, he probably wouldn't recognize my voice.

"Beck...nice to hear from you," he said jovially, and by the tone of his voice I could tell Sela wasn't there. He'd never greet me so nicely otherwise.

"Listen...I'm looking for Sela," I told him, not wanting to beat around the bush. "We had a fight. A bad one, and I can't find her."

"I just walked in, but she's not here," he said, his tone going from amiable to worried. "When did you last see her?"

"Around ten thirty this morning."

"Did you try calling--" he started to ask, but then said, "Wait a minute. Her purse is on the table."

I held my breath and couldn't hear anything. Several seconds passed, and then he was back on the line, his tone low. "She's in her room...sleeping. What's going on?"

"I'm on my way there," I told him, ignoring his question.

"Beck," William said with worry. "What's going on?"

"That's for Sela to tell you, not me. But I'll be there in less than an hour." I cannot tell him how that clusterfuck went down, because I have no clue if he knows his daughter was raped. That's not my place to tell him that.

Silence, then a soft sigh. "Okay. See you soon."

I hung up,

ran out of my condo, and hightailed it down to the garage. Rush hour was winding down but it was hell getting out of San Francisco.

And despite the fact I just had an hour to try to perfect my apology, I was as lost as I've ever been in my life. I have no clue how to make up for the fact that I was a supreme douche, and that I pretty much called her a liar about her rape. I can only hope that Sela has a forgiving heart and she lets me try to make it up to her, because I don't know what I'll do if I can't have her in my life.

My progress is slow as I make my way up to the house. William has apparently been watching out for me, because he opens the front door and steps out onto the porch, his hands tucked into his pockets. I stop at the end of the walkway and look up at him.

"Is she okay?" I ask hesitantly.

"No clue," William says, pinning me with a hard look. "I woke her up after you called. I told her you were coming but she's stayed in her room. I'm giving her space."

"I can't give her space right now," I tell him firmly. No fucking way am I leaving without talking to her.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea--"

"William." I cut him off. "I was here just three days ago, eating dinner in your house. You told me that Sela sometimes withdraws into herself. You told me if I ever caught her doing that, I had to pull her right back out again. So that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"She can be fragile sometimes," he says softly.

"That's not something I respected about her today," I tell him with bruising honesty. Sela may want her dad to know exactly what went down and I'm prepared for this bear of a man to try to whip my ass for it. "But I swear to you, I understand that now and I'm going to treat her with the care she deserves. I just need to talk to her."

"Did you hurt her?" His voice is hoarse and pained.

"Badly," I admit.

William's eyes get wet and his gaze slides away from me and out to the street. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and looks back at me. "Sela's had immense suffering in her life. She's--"

"I know," I tell him, because by those words it's clear to me that William Halstead knows his daughter was raped and he's suffered for it as well.

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