Page 80

“You don’t have to.”

She twists her lips, giving me a half-scowl.

I just laugh. “Have fun.”

I leave, closing the door, about to double-back and tell them not to fight, because when Aro gets mad she doesn’t care about making a scene, but I let it go. If getting waxed together doesn’t guarantee a bond, then I don’t know what does.

Annnnnnd, I stop, realizing Aro got waxed to feel me better, so who the hell did Dylan get waxed for? Goddammit.

I pull off my shirt, keeping my shorts on and not bothering to change since I don’t plan to swim. Unlocking the basement door with the spare key kept inside the red oven mitt, I jog downstairs and swipe one of Madoc’s beers, pop the lid, and run back up, locking the door again. If it’s family, our parents are confident we know not to drink and drive, and if we have too much, we’re comfortable here to spend the night. If it’s someone else’s kids, the mayor can’t be seen supplying alcohol.

But he also acts like he doesn’t know people are sneaking it in in their Gatorade bottles and Hydro Flasks.

Opening the French doors onto the patio, music blasts from the fire pit beyond the pool, laughter and screams filling the air as one of the last parties of summer promises that the fun is only beginning as everyone looks ahead to the new year.

I’ll miss high school. But only because it was familiar. It’ll be hard, leaving Kade and the guys, but I’ve got my own plans.

And if I’m lucky, my cousins will join me in a year.

“Dude, you like walking on the edge, don’t you?” Stoli gives me a look as he takes position at my side. His Solo cup is filled with something red, but I smell the Tito’s he added to it.

Kade kicks a beach ball into the pool and makes his way over to me. “I bought him some time,” he tells our friend, taking a sip of one of his dad’s beers. “Eli is collecting phones from everyone at the door, and I’ve got the cameras set up on alert.”

He holds up his phone, wiggling it.

I take a drink, murmuring, “Thanks.”

“If anyone comes, we’ll know,” he says.

Stoli gulps down the rest of his drink and runs off, cannonballing into the pool. A girl squeals, turning away as the cold splash douses her hair.

I check the patio door, wanting to be here when Aro comes down. If she comes down.

She won’t feel comfortable here, and I don’t know why I brought her. I just didn’t like the thought of her stuck back at the tower, alone.

Maybe I wanted us to come tonight, because if we went back to the tower, I’d just want to do more of what we did last night.

And then, when I freaked the fuck out like I always do, I’d disappoint her.

God, I wanted her. Last night. This morning. Now.

Even now, I just want to be alone with her.

My groin rushes with blood, and I draw in a long, deep breath.

I need another drink. I tip back the bottle, finishing it in one swallow and not remembering when I drank all the rest. “Where are your parents?” I ask Kade, trying to get my mind off my little delinquent.

He stares out at the party. “Hunter.”

I glance at him. Kade and his brother are like two pieces of paper stuck together. Attached, they’re useless. There’s a whole side you can’t see.

But try to separate them, and that’s bad too. The print tears. Again, useless. They’ve always been this way.

I grip my empty bottle. “How’s he doing?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t,” he grits out, turning his eyes on me. “It’s bad enough he broke my parents’ hearts and moved out. That he rarely visits and enrolled at a rival school, but he does it because he hates me. So no, I don’t give a shit.”

I stare at him, Kade’s anger is always quick and his defenses are always up, but there’s something else. The shake in his words. The staggered breathing.

The clipped words and how it’s obvious he’s had them on the tip of his tongue for the entire year since his twin transferred schools. He’s not just mad. He’s upset.

For whatever reason, Hunter felt he needed to leave. Kade is loud, popular, bold, he always has the last word, and he looks good in everything he wears. Hunter is the exact opposite. Quiet, awkward at parties, hates small talk, and he won’t remember to cut his hair until it’s hanging in his eyes, obstructing his view of the computer he’s building or the abandoned building he’s exploring or the cave he’s rappelling into.

He had a hard time at our school, just like I did.

“He doesn’t hate you.” I gaze out at the partygoers but don’t really see them. “I loved being an only child, you know? I hated every time my parents fostered a new kid in, because the kid needed a lot of attention, and as much as I didn’t want it to happen, I knew I was going to get attached to someone who was just going to leave eventually. It sucked.”