Page 100 of Riot Reunion
“Weak,” Wren accuses. He shakes his head disapprovingly. “This isn’t who you are. You’re better than this.”
God, at what point did he develop this opinion of me? He had a front-row seat to the ‘Pax is a Fucking Loser’ show all through the academy. I’ve been a complete shit the entire length of our friendship. I can’t imagine where he thinks he’s seen such a change in me that I warrant this level of belief from him. Craning my neck forward, I get up in his face, narrowing my eyes. Wren doesn’t bat an eyelid when I stab my finger behind me, pointing back at the hospital. “I am going to be thedeathof that girl,” I snarl. “She wouldn’t even be in there right now if it wasn’t for me. The very best thing I can do for her, thekindestthing I can do for her, is to fucking leave and let her get on with her life. Chase is good and kind. All I’m gonna do is back her into a corner and make her lifesmall. I nearly got her killed for fuck’s sake. She deserves better than that. And if that’s all I can do—to walk away and let her make a fresh start for herself, then I’ll fucking do it. Now give me…my fuckingkeys.”
Wren meets my gaze. We met when we were fourteen, and we did not like each other at first. He was so quietly confident. An arrogant, pampered piece of shit in my book. We spent a lot of time butting heads, going toe-to-toe. Staring each other down was our profession. Eventually, we became inseparable, and we joined forces, directing our anger and our bad attitudes outward, toward a world that treated us badly, instead of at each other. But he learned how to read me before then, though.
Silently, he hands over the keys to the Charger.
I head off, making a beeline for the car, where I can see it parked on the other side of the half-empty lot.
“Enjoy Japan. I hope you eat bad sushi every day and get dysentery, youfuck!”
I don’t breathe a fucking word.
Trembling, I climb into the Charger, start the engine, and I screech out of the parking lot. As soon as I can no longer see the hospital in the rearview mirror, I pull over to the side of the road, put the car in park, open the door, and I hurl my guts up onto the sidewalk.
It’s over. It’s done. This is the end.
41
PRESLEY
LONDON
“You think this is cold?Alaskawas cold,” Elodie says, pulling the living room window closed. She laughs, about to say something else to underline her point, no doubt, but then she sees me and her smile ups and vanishes.
Alaska is a taboo subject amongst my friends.
Alaska, all mention of children or babies, and the name Pax Davis.
For the past month, everyone has been very careful not to mention that name. Two weeks, I languished at home in Mountain Lakes, and my father didn’t mention him once. He didn’t even lord the fact that he was right about Pax over me. He felt guilty, I think. Everyone else had to go back to school to take exams and catch up on their missed assignments, so it was just me and him. He surprised me when he brought me home from the hospital to a brand-new house. A turnkey new-build property on the outskirts of town—three bedrooms, and a pool in the backyard, and no shitty memories to fuel my nightmares when I passed out each night. Not that I needed help in that department. Moving house couldn’t erase the memory of Pax. Couldn’t erase the sting of him walking out of that hospital room…and all of the tears that followed in the days after. It was something, though. A fresh start. The new environment helped.
“I can’t believe your dad let you come on your own,” Carrie says, pouring a healthy amount of wine into our glasses, refilling them. “You’re still not a hundred percent after the surgery, surely.”
“I’m fine. I’m completely healed, I promise. The doctors cleared me, so what was he gonna do? Fly out here with me and lurk in a hotel down the road while I spent the holidays with you guys, on the off chance that I needed him?
“Yes.” The girls say it at the same time. “He’s pretty overprotective,” Elodie adds.
“Oh really? Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” I wink to let them know I’m being sarcastic. The laughter that I force out sounds exactly that, though: forced. I wonder if they notice, or if they buy the lie that I’m capable of laughing again. If they see through my ruse, they’re too kind to let on.
“The guys will be back from the pub soon. We’d better make the most of the peace and quiet while we have the chance,” Carrie says, changing the subject. No one likes to linger on my surgery for too long; it leads to other, more complicated topics of conversation. It irritates me most of the time. I don’t need them to handle me with kid gloves. I’m stronger now than I was last month. Not so breakable. But today I’m grateful for their tiptoeing. We were all supposed to be here for Christmas together. The six of us. Three couples. The fact that there are only five of us, two couples and a single fifth wheel, is uncomfortable as hell. No one will mention it, but the distinct lack of Pax has been the elephant in the room since we reunited at Dash and Carrie’s London flat three days ago. Just like his personality, Pax’s absence is about as subtle as a brick to the face.
I take a sip of my wine, trying to eradicate all thoughts of him from my mind, but that is a battle that I will never win. I look at Elodie and I remember the time she flipped Pax over on his ass outside Riot House. When I look at Carrie, I remember years of her telling me that I should give up swooning over him because he’s a sociopath and I can do a million times better for myself. When I look at Wren and Dash, all Iseeis Pax, because the three of them are one single unit. Synonymous with one another, it’s impossible to talk about one of them without the other two pieces of the Riot House puzzle cropping up. I drain my wine before I even realize that I’ve been chugging the glass Carrie just poured for me.
“I think I’m gonna freshen up,” I tell the girls, already feeling the effects of the alcohol coursing through my veins.
“Okay, girl.” Carrie smiles easily, her façade a good one. I’ve known my friend long enough to know that she’s worried about me, though. Elodie, too. The pair of them have done a stellar job of acting like everything is normal, but I see the looks they share when they think I’m not looking. I hear their whispered conversations when they think I’m out of earshot. Case in point: their hushed back and forth when I make my way back from the bathroom.
Elodie: “Has she heard from him?”
Carrie: “Not that I know of. Dash has been texting him every other day. He hasn’t had a single response. What about Wren?”
Elodie: “Nothing. He apologized for laying into him. For Wren to do that? He feels terrible. He tried calling a bunch, but he doesn’t pick up. Wren thinks he didn’t bother unlocking international roaming when he went overseas—”
“He had his line disconnected,” I say, entering the kitchen. “At the beginning of the month. I called the cell provider. They wouldn’t give me any information about his account, but the woman said that his number was no longer in use. She told me I could buy it if I wanted it. I think that was her way of giving me the information I asked her for without breaking the rules.”
The girls look stricken, both of them pale as sheets. Carrie nearly drops her wine. “Sorry, Pres. We weren’t trying to be rude. We’re just…trying to understand it all, y’know.” She shrugs. “Just like you are, I’m sure.”
“It’s all right. I know. The whole situation’s crazy. I’d be trying to work it out, too, if I were you. I just wish...” I trail off, letting the thought die. Wishing is for optimistic fools and idiots.
