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“I will.” She hooks her arm in mine and begins to lead us out of the kitchen. We grab a couple of ice creams from the freezer in the garage before heading back through the main foyer, through the sitting room and past the sliding doors to the outdoor patio.
Music spills out around loud laughter as people splash in the pool. “Ignore all of the stares,” Tillie whispers in my ear over the vociferous atmosphere. “You’ll get used to it. Wait until they find out you’re with Bran.”
I don’t answer her, mainly because I don’t think I vocally can. We move past girls wearing bikinis and some wearing nothing—literally nothing. They’re completely naked. I’m still staring back at the group of people making out in the spa when Tillie stops us.
I slowly turn around, my hair falling over my shoulder when I see everyone seated around a firepit between the pool and the entrance to the cemetery. It’s far enough away from the music for it to not be overwhelming, but close enough to still be able to enjoy the tunes. Music is something I have also lived through. Movies, music, and books. The three ways to live more than one life.
I find Brantley instantly. He’s sitting on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the fire. He’s wearing a dark hoodie, black jeans with tears in the knees, Chuck Taylors, and—I lose my train of thought because his eyes are moving up and down my body.
“Well, if it isn’t the new duet,” Eli purrs from the other side of Tillie.
Tillie smacks the back of his head while taking a seat beside Nate, and I find myself beside Bishop because he’s closest to me in a two-seater lounge chair. I also don’t know where else I’m supposed to sit.
Bishop remains silent, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth.
I turn my head to watch him as he takes long sips. Drowning himself in liquor. I would love to meet the girl who has brought this man to his knees, all while holding his broken heart.
“So, you think this is going to work?” Eli asks, looking at Brantley. Eli has to be around the same age as the rest of them, but he’s more on the pretty scale. His sunken cheekbones and the few scatters of beauty marks on his face are so feminine, but I get the feeling he’s anything but.
“Don’t know,” Brantley says, and when I look up at him, his eyes are still on mine. His jaw is tense, the shadows around his face more obscure. Nerves in my belly swim to the surface. I feel like I’m doing something wrong, as if I’m being scolded by a parent, but I have no idea what for.
“You need to fuckin’ chill, my man.” Bishop laughs loudly at Brantley from beside me.
I’m lost. Again.
Bishop smirks around the rim of his bottle, and I bring my hand out farther toward the open flames to warm my palms. “You and I both know that’s not this.” He mutters something else under his breath, too, but I don’t catch it.
“Saint!” Tillie calls out from a few chairs over. “Ever had alcohol?”
“—No,” both Bishop and Brantley snap at her.
“Jeezzz.” She rolls her eyes. “I see the whole” —she waves—“is in full effect.”
“Do better, Tillie…” Bishop growls at her.
I can see Brantley kick his legs out of the corner of my eye, leaning back in his chair. When I finally look over at him, he’s still watching me. The orange hues that bounce off the flames slap him across the face, leaving a shrill spray of shadows over his features.
“You know, I give Brit Robinson twenty minutes before she’s crawling on Bishop’s lap again,” Tillie muses. Eli is quiet, watching whatever is happening in the hot tub. He always seems bored. Like he needs to have something to play with at all times.
“—trying,” Nate corrects, massaging her belly.
“Trying,” Tillie says, spooning a chunk of Ben & Jerry’s into her mouth. I wonder to myself if Bran is the same. No doubt he would be, but I’ve noticed people stare at Brantley, but they don’t approach. It’s as though they’re almost… too afraid.
“Just stay right beside Bishop, Saint. Scare them all away.” Eli snickers around a cigarette.
“I don’t need her to scare them away. They know who runs this shit.” Bishop leans onto his elbows, hanging his head between his shoulders. My phone vibrates in my back pocket, so I lean up to grab it out.
“Oh, you’re allowed a phone?” Bishop mocks. “I’m shocked. Really.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Brantley kicks dust toward Bishop, snickering.
I unlock my phone, but I don’t answer the message.
“Put my number in so if you ever need someone to save you, you call me…” Bishop yaps off his number as I enter it into my phone, sending him a blank screen so he has mine.