Page 207 of Worthy

His brows lift toward his hairline “Ready?”

Nodding, I follow him as he starts pushing his way through the throng of people. I spare one last glance over my shoulder, some of the tension in my chest unfurling when I find Jeremy smiling up at a rugged looking guy in a muscle tee. The guy waves down the bartender, lifting two fingers.

Shaking my head, I smile and look away.

Yeah, he’ll be just fine.

Once outside, the doors close behind us, stealing away the sound. My ears ring in the sudden quiet, and the night air on my skin feels like heaven compared to the sweltering heat we just escaped. Waylon’s pale, inked skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. His dark hair sticks to his temples.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand like it’s nothing, and all thoughts of Mason and Jeremy disappear, and all that remains now is this moment.

The street isn’t empty. Street lamps and LED signs from nearby windows light up our surroundings, making the asphalt glitter.

Like inside the shadows of the club, there is anonymity out here too, but it’s different. The people passing by us can see us, but they don’t know us.

They don’t know what it fucking took to get here.

They look at us and all they probably see are two guys holding hands, grinning at each other like love-sick dorks. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Music trickles from open windows, combatting the whooshing of distant cars.

I grew up here. Walked these streets too many times to count. And yet, it feels different tonight. New and shiny and bright.

“I like this, City Boy,” Waylon says, squeezing my palm.

I sidle up closer, sandwiching our arms together, and I tell him simply, “Me too, Rockstar. Me too.”

Chapter six

Jeremy Montgomery

Smoke paves a fiery path down my throat, filling my lungs. I suck in as much as I can and hold it, tipping my head back against the cushion to gaze up at the starless night sky.

Lowering the blunt to my side, I slowly let some of the thick white smoke trickle out from my nose, watching the way it forms a cloud around my head, before disappearing into the night.

The old Trapt song that’s been playing softly from my AirPods gives way to the next in the queue. The opening chords to “Regrets” by Dream on Dreamer filters into my ears, mingling with the distant rush of passing cars and chirps of crickets.

Out here in Will’s parents’ backyard, with music muffling the late-night sounds of the city, I can almost pretend I’m back home, sitting on the roof outside my bedroom with nothing but music, the stars, and my sketchbook to keep me company.

My bare toes curl into the scratchy lounge chair cushion. My skin tingles, and my head feels fuzzy. My mouth chalky. The music feelsmore,and I know it’s the weed starting to work its magic.

Tucking my legs up to my chest, I grip the coiled edge of my sketchbook with my free hand, keeping it from falling. A graphite pencil balances between my pale fingers.

That’s better,I think, a sleepy grin teasing my lips, my eyes drifting shut.

I don’t smoke often, but I have a script for medicinal use for when I need it, like tonight. My anxiety’s been shit, hence why I’m still awake. I know it’s at least partially from the Molly. I always crash hard from the stuff—in an antsy, depressed sort of way—which is why I typically steer clear from anything that isn’t alcohol and weed.

But when Ivy waved a little baggy in my face this morning, a wicked grin playing at her ruby-red lips, I couldn’t resist.

I just wanted to feelgood,even if it was just for a couple hours, despite knowing what would come after.

Was it worth it?

I’d like to think so.

I did end up having fun today once we reunited with the others at the end of the march, and I was able to use the others as a much-needed buffer between Mason and me. By then the drugs had kicked in, and all my issues seemed to just…fade away.

I just wish my reprieve would’ve lasted a little bit longer. Say, like, for forever.

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