Page 20 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

The knot in my stomach tightens. Someone knows.

Panic surges through me as I stare at the screen, the cryptic comment looping in my mind like a broken record.“Secrets don’t stay buried.”My mouth feels dry, and I can hear the thudding of my own heartbeat in my ears. Who could this be?

Is it the masked guy?

Chapter 4

“Thatcher! Where the fuck have you been?” Ezra yells as I exit my car. He stands shirtless and barefoot on the lawn, still littered with red solo cups and empty beer cans. I have to get some people to clean that up but now’s not the time.

Ezra’s face is pale, his eyes wild. He’s breathing hard, his usual laid back attitude replaced by raw panic. It’s understandable, considering the situation.

I shrug. “I had something to do.”

“Something to do? Fuck man! The cops are up our asses here!” he shouts, waving his arms around like he’s losing it.

I glance over, finally registering the swarm of police cars parked up and down the street, the flashing lights reflecting on the frat house windows. A couple of officers are standing by the door, chatting while others talk to some guys on the porch.It’s chaotic, but I don’t let it rattle me.

I shrug again, my tone calm, almost bored. “Yeah, so what?”

Is this why he’s been blowing up my phone since the crack of dawn?

I stifle a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. “You’re overreacting, dude.”

He gapes at me, his frustration mounting. “Overreacting? Jack is dead! Dead!”

He runs his hand through his disheveled hair.

“Fuck! The cops are in there grilling everyone, and you say I’m overreacting?”

I meet his frantic gaze. “Yeah, I get it. He’s dead,” I say, trying hard not to roll my eyes. “But freaking out isn’t going to change that.”

Ezra lets out a frustrated growl and begins to pace back and forth. “How the fuck are you so calm? They’re looking for answers. They think that one of us might’ve had something to do with it.”

Leaning against my car, I scan the scene—cops swarming the place, guys standing around looking like they’re about to shit their pants. I meet Ezra’s wild eyes with a cool stare.

“And? Relax, man,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Let them ask their questions. They’re just doing their jobs.”

He shakes his head, his annoyance bubbling over. “You don’t get it do you? We could all be in deep shit.”

I shrug, barely fazed. “Then don’t act like you’re guilty. If we didn’t do anything, we’ve got nothing to worry about.” I push off the car, glancing back toward the house. “Just keep it together.”

Ezra glares at me, his frustrated mixing with disbelief. “Keep it together? Are you even listening to yourself, Thatcher? Jack is dead. You know how bad that looks, right? You’re the one who found him!”

I stay silent, but his words strike a nerve. My mind drifts back to the party last night, to Rhea. The way her hair caught the neon lights, how she looked in that fucking tiny tennis skirt, standingin the middle of the crowd, smiling. But that smile wasn’t for me. It was for Jack.

I told myself it didn’t matter, that Rhea was just caught up in the moment. But every time I saw them together, my blood boiled.

I tried to ignore them, tried to lose myself in the alcohol, the drugs, the writhing bodies…but I couldn’t. It was irrational, I knew it, but it didn’t stop the possessiveness clawing at my chest, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Jack had no business being that close to her. He wasn’t supposed to touch her.

He wasn’t supposed to touch what was mine.

Ezra’s voice pulls me back to reality. His eyes, wide and panicked. I’d known Ezra since we were little kids just stumbling around on skates at hockey camp but right now, all I can think about is how much I want to punch something—anything. Preferably Jack. I try to focus on Ezra, his panicked words blending into the background noise of my own thoughts.

We’ve been through a lot, Ezra and I, from summers spent on the ice to nights like this, where chaos and adrenaline feel like second nature. But nothing about this feels right. Not last night. Not now.

Ezra’s still talking, his hands running through his hair in frustration, but my mind is stuck on Rhea. On Jack’s hands on her, his mouth on hers. I had no right to feel so fucking protective like this, but it didn’t matter. I felt it anyway.

She was supposed to be mine, not his, not anyone else’s. The thought of them upstairs together last night, what might’ve happened—it makes my blood boil all over again.

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