Page 32

Chapter Thirty-One

Scarlett

I feel the punch I drank at the dance rolling in my stomach like the whitecaps against the shore a hundred feet away. Then my instincts kick in and I scramble to the side of the dirt path, closer to the trees, which give me at least a little more cover.

It only takes me a few minutes to spot Carter in the crowd. He’s taller and more built than he was two years ago, but otherwise hasn’t changed that much. Same clean-cut hairstyle, same confident swagger, same slightly crooked smile. The one I thought was so dreamy. Until suddenly it wasn’t.

He’s here with a couple of his friends from out of town that I recognize from that summer. And I’m totally thrown. Carter never shows up at parties in Sandy Haven. Ever. When we had the awkward conversation with him and his mother after everything went down, there was an agreement that he would stay away from me as much as possible. But I guess even terms outlined between civil neighbors in plant-filled sunrooms have a statute of limitations. Whatever the reason, he’s here now.

And I’m stuck.

I can’t leave while Carter’s hanging out around the main beach area. Going down the path puts me in perfect eyesight of anyone on the beach below. A lone beacon above the crowd. And my only other option is to duck back into the Shack and crash Seb’s romantic surprise gesture for his girlfriend. Which, yeah, is not an option. No way I’m doing that. I have to wait Carter out. Make myself scarce until he wanders farther along the beach, or bows out to take a leak, or God… anything. I do not want to talk to him.

I slide up against a wide tree trunk and settle in for a long stretch of Candy Crush. Only I’m barely focusing on the game. My attention keeps straying to the beach every few seconds, tracking Carter’s movements. Then watching Dylan, who is still leaning against the bolder, head ducked, kicking at the sand with the toe of his boot, looking sullen and like he wants to be anywhere but here right now. A sentiment I can totally relate to.

The next time I look over, he glances up at the same time and our eyes connect. He leans forward slightly, his back lifting from the large rock, head tilted. He watches me, turning his head only briefly to offer a curt two or three word response to a question directed at him by one of the girls flocking like disciples. They’re pretending to talk amongst themselves, but clearly focused on him. A couple of weeks ago, I would have thought Dylan didn’t notice, or even care. Now I know he noticed the second they started moving in. And I know their presence makes him uncomfortable and on edge.

Caroline shows up a few minutes later and we talk briefly before she heads into the Shack to find her man. I go back to playing Candy Crush, but not really playing Candy Crush.

During my next scan of the beach, Carter is still in the same spot. So is Dylan. Only now, one of the fawning girls is sidling next to him, leaning in right against his side. I can see his body tense even from here, then shift so they’re no longer touching. His eyes flick up and lock on mine again. Then he lifts his left fist a few inches. Just enough for me to notice the movement, but no one else, since I’m looking down at him from above. And he raises his thumb, index, and pinky fingers in the universal ‘rock on’ symbol.

He’s giving me the hand gesture version of a sarcastic “yeah, having a bundle of fun over here.”

I laugh and return the gesture. I’m intrigued that he isn’t aware of some of the most basic normal things—like what being grounded means—and yet he somehow knows the hand symbol for ‘rock on’. And I want to know how he came to learn it. Why he knows about some things and is so in the dark about others. These are all the little pieces of him that fascinate me. How he became the person he is now. The way his mind works. Because despite Eli Sampson carving away so many pieces of his existence, Dylan still managed to forge a personality that is uniquely his. Through all the horrors he’s lived through, he still has a sense of humor. Just gave me the rock on symbol, surrounded by a gaggle of girls swooning over him, precisely to show that he sees how ridiculous the whole thing is.

I swipe to my text messages and type.

Scarlett

Thought you weren't coming out tonight?

I wait, but he ignores the message. Or is too distracted to notice it came in. The next time he glances up, I hold up my phone, point to it, then to him. He looks confused, then a second later, fishes his own phone out of his back pocket. He swipes a couple of times, then starts reading.

Looks up.

Then back at his phone.

Types…

Dylan

Dan made me

Dan? Who the hell is Dan?

Oh, wait—

Scarlett

Do you mean Diane?

Dylan

Ya

Scarlett

You could have texted me, jackass

Scarlett

To let me know you were coming I mean

He watches me for a second, then pushes off the rock, shoving his phone in his back pocket as he saunters towards the path that leads up to the shack. I fumble with my phone, dial him as quickly as possible.

Dylan pauses for a second, glancing back up at me as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket. Then he keeps walking again as he slides his finger across the screen to answer then holds it up to his ear. “Yeah?”

“You can’t come up here.” My voice sounds breathless and I’m sure he notices.

He glances around. Back at the gaggle of girls who all whip their heads away in an effort to conceal the fact that they were still staring after him. “Why?” He peers back up the cliff at me.

“Carter Beaumont is here,” I practically whisper, afraid to say his name too loudly. “The guy from the lake.”

I watch as Dylan suddenly jerks to his full height. “Where?” He glances around, panning the crowd like he’ll somehow be able to tell who Carter is, even though he’s never seen him before in his life.

“It doesn’t matter. Just—Look, he’s here, and I want to avoid him. And if you come up, he’ll see me… because everyone stares at you wherever you go.” I swear I see him flinch, and I feel bad for being so blunt. “Sorry. It’s just—I can’t let him see me. You need to stay there and I need to stay here until he’s distracted. Because if I make my way down, he’s also likely to spot me.”

Dylan doesn’t respond right away. Just stands there with the phone to his ear for a second, looking straight ahead. Then finally says, “So, tell me who he is, and I’ll go tell him to leave.”

See? Despite Eli Sampson’s best efforts, Dylan Braun is a good guy. Underneath all that anger and confusion and sadness, he’s possibly even sweet.

“No. I don’t want you getting involved.”

“I’m not. Just telling this douche-face to take a hike.”

“No.”

He’s still glancing around, scouting out a guy whose appearance he knows nothing about. “Fine. I’m coming up, then.”

“Please don’t! That’ll draw attention up here. Just… I’m sure in a few minutes he’ll move from front and center of the beach and I’ll have a few minutes to come down.”

There’s a pause before Dylan responds. “You’re doing it again—letting him control you.”

And it annoys me. I don’t need him pointing that out right now. I just want him to spend a few minutes talking on the phone, distracting me. Help bring down the nerves knotting in my chest.

“I know that,” I say, the words clipped and irritated. “But I’m allowed to not want to see him.”

There’s a long silence before he finally says, “Yeah. You are.” Another long pause. And then, “…Sorry.” He says that last word so softly, I barely hear it.

“Hey, maybe we should sic your army of fan-girls on him,” I joke.

He makes this huffing sound that’s close to a laugh. “Do it.”

Then I hear it through his phone—a guy calling out over the music, “Hey Beaumont! Grab me another beer from that cooler, man!”

Dylan’s head snaps towards the direction the voice came from.

My grip tightens around the phone. “Dylan! Don’t—”

But he’s already hung up. Stalking straight towards Carter, who is standing beside a huge cooler, giving someone a thumbs-up sign and leaning down to grab a beer. All but identifying himself with a giant neon checkmark, so Dylan knows exactly which one he is.

Crap. I jump to my feet.

Crap.Crap.Crap.

I make my way down the slope. Not running, but definitely a fast walk. Dylan’s right up in Carter’s face by the time I get down, and Carter is glancing around, looking confused. People are already staring. Everything Dylan does besides sit quietly causes people to stare. And even then, a lot of people still do. Only right now, he looks pissed. The most emotion anyone here has probably ever seen from the infamous Maytag Kid. He’s totally drawing attention to himself.

“You need to leave.” He pushes Carter back with a hand against his chest.

Carter smacks it away. “Do I know you?”

I’m almost at the end of the rocky ledge along the bottom of the slope, only a few feet away, when Dylan shoves him again.

“What the hell is your problem, bro?” Carter shoves him back with both hands.

Dylan’s only got one functioning hand since the other one is in that stupid cast.

This is so bad.

I finally reach them. “Dylan!” I grab his left arm. “Don’t!”

He shakes me off. “This asshole was just leaving,” he says, motioning at Carter, whose eyes widen when he notices me.

His mouth stretches into that smile that might not look smarmy, but definitely feels smarmy. “Scarlett! Hey! How are you?” He steps toward me, arm extended for a hug.

He steps in for a freakin’ hug.

I take a step back. “Fine.” I turn back to Dylan. “Let’s go.”

“We’re not going. He is.”

I want to remind Dylan he doesn’t even want to be here—that his stepmother had to force him to come. Instead, I lean in close to his ear. “Seriously, Dylan. Back off. This is not your fight.”

“Can we talk, Scarr?” Carter asks, sidestepping Dylan like he isn’t practically breathing down his neck. Like it’s just the two of us now, and like that whole incident on the dock never happened. Like there might not be a dozen or a hundred or thousands of copies of that video floating around out there for anyone to see.

“No, Carter, we can’t talk,” I say at the same time as Dylan says, “Fucking leave .”

I glance around. There’s a huge crowd gathered now. This is a level of confrontation that wouldn’t usually garner more than a few curious looks at one of these bonfire parties. But this confrontation involves Dylan Braun. And not only has he finally made an appearance at a social event, he’s about to follow it up with just the kind of spectacle everyone’s been anticipating from him since he showed up in Sandy Haven. And people want a front-row seat for that level of drama.

Which is why I need to get him out of here. Now.

Carter turns to Dylan. “Bro. You’ve got a broken arm.” He laughs. “I’m not going to fight you… So, back off.”

Dylan does the opposite, advancing towards him again instead, nostrils flared. Jaw clenched. “Not gonna ask again. Turn the fuck around. And leave. ”

Carter looks more baffled than intimidated. He turns to me. “Can you tell this psycho to chill out?”

And that does it. He just flipped Dylan’s switch.

Faster than I have time to react, Dylan pulls back his arm and clocks Carter in the jaw with his left hand.

I hear the hollow thud of bone against bone. The pained “ungh!” that escapes Carter’s mouth from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes go from stunned to pissed in less time than it takes to digest what happened.

He rubs at his jaw. “What the fuck, man?” He turns to me. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s the freakin’ Maytag Kid!” some idiot from the crowd calls out.

Carter’s eyes widen, and he whips back to face Dylan. “You’re the guy that serial killer kidnapped?”

I go right up to Dylan, so close I can feel his breath against the part of my forehead just beneath the edge of my navy knitted tuque. “You’re five seconds from turning my issues into a public spectacle,” I hiss. “And about to turn yours into one, too. Giving everyone exactly what they want from you. So please…" I lean in closer. “ Let’s go. ”

His eyes flicker from rage to confusion. To guilt. He nods curtly. “Fine.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yo! Maytag Kid! You want another go at me?” Carter calls behind me. “I’ll use my left hand. Fair fight.”

Crap. No.

Dylan’s whole body tenses. Nostrils flare. He eases me out of the way with his cast, advancing on Carter. I rush in front of him and he’s forced to take a step back because I get right up in his face again.

“Ignore him… He’s an idiot,” I plead. “Come on. Let’s leave. ”

Dylan’s eyes flash to mine. They’re that same deep green they were the night he trashed his bedroom and put his fist through the wall. Twice. “If we leave, we’re letting him win,” he spits, his anger spilling into his eyes now, and the ice-cold bite of his words.

I’m pretty sure this showdown just jumped to being about a lot more than me and Carter. I think Eli Sampson has muscled his way into the situation now, too.

“And you’re about to let Eli win, if you keep acting like this,” I retort, struggling not to raise my voice. I’m so frustrated with him right now. With the turn this whole situation has taken. That it even happened in the first place. “I don’t care about Carter. But I give a shit about you, and I don’t want you acting like this.”

“You good, man?” Silas’ voice comes from my side. He’s addressing Dylan, inserting himself next to me, turning his back on Carter so he’s blocking him from Dylan’s line of vision. Over his shoulder, I notice Xavier and a couple of other guys approaching Carter and exchanging words.

“Who the hell are you?” Dylan asks, his sea-green eyes cooly assessing Silas.

“Friend of Scarlett’s,” Silas says. Which is a sweet overstatement under the circumstances.

I peek another glance over Silas’ shoulder. Xavier and those other guys are walking with Carter and his two friends towards the steps that lead off the beach to the street. Then, just to their left, I spot Seb jogging down the slope from the Shack. He goes right over to the guys by the steps, looking seriously pissed. He says something to Carter. Carter responds, looking annoyed—but he and the other two guys he came with turn and head up the steps, throwing out a few choice parting words I can’t make out.

I blow out a shaky breath. Dylan turns, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. He steps away and starts pacing the stretch of sand just to our left.

“Thank you,” I tell Silas softly.

“Didn’t do anything,” Silas says. But he did. And he would have done more, I think, if things had escalated. He would have backed Dylan. Backed me.

Now Seb and Xave have reached us.

“Show’s over!” Silas calls out to the slew of bystanders. A bunch of my other friends have come over too, to see if I’m okay, forming a wide circle around me. And I get why Dylan hates the attention all the time. It’s awkward being on show when your emotions are involved.

Seb puts an arm around me. Brings me in close into a one-armed hug. “You okay?” He looks down at me.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“What the hell was Beaumont doing here?” he asks, his eyes darting briefly to the wooden steps Carter and his friends just ascended.

“Not sure… How did you even know he showed up?”

“Xave texted,” he says, confirming my suspicion that Xave has been aware all along of what went down that summer.

Dylan wanders back over, left hand shoved in his pocket. Eyes a little less icy. Shoulders a little less tense. Caroline, Maggie, and Jackie slip into the tighter knit group around us, and most of the other people who stuck around after Silas called out start slowly trickling away, resuming frantic conversations or heading to one of the coolers for more beer, or towards the trees to resume making out.

Maggie glances at me, then at Dylan, who’s tugging at his lip ring with his front teeth and rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “I know what we all need,” she says, breaking the awkward silence.

She tells us her idea, and we all agree. Even Dylan. Reluctantly, but still… he agrees.