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Laurel jumped out of the car as soon as the familiar facade of the Belmont Inn resolved itself from out of the rain, his feet sinking into the soggy grass of the parking strip, feet soaked through before Casey had even fully parked. No ghost dogs in sight, but Melody was huddled on the front porch like a cat left out in a storm, jacketless, arms wrapped around her abdomen like it pained her. Howie Bonard stood next to her, talking to her hunched back. He put a hand on her shoulder as Laurel watched. Something about that pale hand on her bare skin made Laurel’s chest fill with roaring panic, made his throat clench. He broke into a run, rushing up the front steps of the hotel.

“Melody!”

“She’s fine,” Bonard said. There was a proprietary smugness in his voice.

Laurel could see that she wasn’t; Melody’s eyes were wet, her hands shaking so badly that the vape in her fist clattered against her phone, sounding like castanets in the enclosed area of the porch. There was a deep indent in her lower lip from where she’d been gnawing on it. The supporting boot was still on her foot, weighing her down. “Laurel, I need to go home.”

“Silly thing’s been out drinking all day with a broken foot, and no jacket. I tried to give her mine, but I guess chivalry is dead.” Howie massaged Melody’s shoulder. Laurel imagined snapping his fingers like twigs, thought of how loud and satisfying it would be.

“Melody, come on,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “Let’s go.”

Bonard continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Not a drop of sense in her pretty little head, is there, Mellie?” She flinched. Laurel knew she hated that nickname. “She can’t take care of herself. I offered, you know. I’ve been more than generous. But she’s pissed at me, as usual.” He gave Laurel a pained look, as if he were the victim here. The expression didn’t reach his eyes, which remained flat and predatory and somehow pleased. “Making herself crazy about a little piece of paper.”

Laurel bit into the inside of his cheek, heart pounding. The restraining order obviously hadn’t worked. Something sour slithered through his stomach.

“Howie, let her go.”

“As if a piece of paper could keep us apart. As if anyone would ever sign it.”

He leaned down, speaking into Melody’s ear. “You’ve got to stop embarrassing yourself with these antics, Mellie.”

“Fuck off,” she said weakly. Howie Bonard chuckled.

“Melody, come on,” Laurel said through gritted teeth. “I’ve got a car waiting. Let’s get you out of here.” He could see her trembling, and it made him want to break something, made him want to peel the grin off of Bonard’s face.

Bonard put an arm around Melody’s shoulders. “She doesn’t need to leave with you. She’s fine right where she is, aren’t you, Mellie?”

“I told you to let her go.” Laurel’s heartbeat was clanging in his head like a tin drum, and the edges of everything seemed to have gotten sharper, Howie Bonard’s face standing out in dramatic relief, the cords of tension starkly defined in Melody’s neck. He felt dizzy and sick, like there was something molten stuck in his throat, trying to get out. He wanted to run. He wanted to reach out and smash through the world as if it were the pane of a window. Laurel licked his lips, mouth dry.

“Why don’t you run along, Laurel?” Howie was still smiling.

Run along. Right, like he always did, leaving Melody by herself. Guilt lurched in his chest, and his eyes felt heavy, like he might cry. His voice cracked as he said, “Why don’t you stop fucking touching her.” He reached out to pull Bonard’s arm off of Melody, and Bonard shrugged him off.

Laurel grabbed for him again, and Bonard put a hand on his chest, shoving him backward. Laurel didn’t really know what happened after that. He had the vague impression of his head knocking back against one of the porch pillars, and then he had a handful of Howie Bonard’s jacket and his fist was raised and all he could see were those shining, overlong teeth, that stupid grin, and Melody was shouting and—

“Laurel! Laurel, Jesus. Calm down. What are you doing?” It was Casey, Casey’s warm hand on his shoulder, and Laurel sank against him before he could think better of it, stomach going soft, relief flooding through him. Melody was clutching Laurel’s arm. His fist was still clenched so tightly that the knuckles hurt, his muscles taut and shaking, but he no longer had a hold of Bonard, who had retreated back against the wall, a look of contempt on his face.

“You’d better learn to control yourself, boy,” he sneered.

“Is everything okay out here?” The front desk clerk at the hotel had come outside. It was Jessica Fuller, née Copeland, daughter of Sarah Ann and a peer of Laurel and Melody’s; she had been in the same graduating class. Laurel felt himself deflate like a crushed paper bag, unable to meet her eyes.

“Fine,” said Howie Bonard. He smoothed the front of his jacket. “They were just leaving.”

“Laurel, come on.” Melody tugged on his arm. Great, now she was the one comforting him , her voice soft and reasonable, because Laurel had lost it. Casey was no longer touching him, but Laurel could feel him at his back, feel the cold absence where his hand had been. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” Casey said, echoing Melody. “Come on.”

Laurel saw Howie Bonard notice Casey, eyes narrowing. The smile slid back across his face, and for just a second, Laurel really, really wished he had succeeded in knocking at least one of his teeth out. “Casey, was it? You’re planning that party for Denise? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear how cozy you’ve gotten with her son.”

*

Melody started crying as soon as they got into the car, big, whooping sobs that sounded like they hurt coming out. Her face was pressed into Laurel’s shirtfront, her whole body shuddering. Rain pounded on the roof, the windows, making Laurel feel like they were in a tin can. He murmured platitudes, hand anchored in her wet hair, at once suffocated by her nearness and feeling strangely isolated, watching his pathetic attempts at comfort with a kind of bemused contempt. One-handed, he fumbled for his phone. “Can you take us back to her place? I’ve got the address.”

“Sure.” Casey glanced over his shoulder at the two of them in the backseat. His expression was unreadable, but he was oddly pale. Or maybe it was just the rain on the windshield, washing him out. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Laurel attempted a laugh. “I think so.”

“I never took you for a fighter.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Shame flooded Laurel’s stomach as he thought about how stupid he must have looked. Casey would probably want nothing to do with him after all this.

But Casey sounded almost amused when he spoke again. “Did he really just call you boy ? Like some Old South Foghorn Leghorn douchebag?”

“Sure did.” Laurel pushed a sodden lock of hair out of his face. “That whole family thinks they’re characters in a Tennesee Williams play.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Melody groaned, in a waterlogged voice. “I’m sorry, Laurel, I shouldn’t have called—”

“Don’t. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t missed your first phone call—”

She shook her head. “Now I’ve just gotten you into trouble, and your mom will hear, and—”

He sighed. “I don’t really give a shit what my mom hears. I wasn’t letting you go home with him.”

Melody broke away from him to wipe at her face, makeup running down her cheeks. “He’s right about me,” she said, voice cracking. “He always has been. I’m worthless. I should just give up. I’m stupid and crazy and even my own fucking cat hates me and—and—” She began to tear furiously at the velcro straps on the supportive boot on her foot. “And this fucking thing doesn’t help, I—”

“Melody. Melody, come on, sweetie. You need that.”

“Just dump me on the side of the road somewhere, I’m serious. Let me out. I don’t deserve to be here, I—” foot free from the boot, she started scrabbling at the door handle. Laurel grabbed for her hand, panic rising in his chest. They were pulling out onto one of the many bridges that crisscrossed the town, and the little car shuddered on the slick, uneven pavement.

“Hey.” Casey, from the front seat. He still sounded completely calm. Laurel heard the snick of the door lock sliding to. “Melody, right? Stop fucking with my car, please.”

“I—” Melody swallowed, seeming to truly notice him for the first time. She ran a hand through her wet hair. “Casey Bright? What are you even doing here?”

“Laurel couldn’t drive. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Melody frowned. “You two are—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Laurel caught the flash of Casey’s eyes in the rearview mirror, then he was back to looking out over the road. “Why don’t you tell us what happened? It can’t really be worth throwing yourself into traffic about.”

“Yeah, seconded.” Laurel took a breath, putting his hand over Melody’s where it rested on the seat. His heart was still pounding, his stomach tight. He studied the nape of Casey’s neck, the clean line of his collar, wondering what he was thinking.

“Nothing happened.” Melody huddled against the window, her good foot tucked under her opposite thigh. “I mean, it was the same as always. I was out for brunch with Kierra. She went home and I stayed out. And then he showed up, and he wouldn’t let me leave. He kept feeding me drinks even though I didn’t want them, and he was g-gloating about how his brother had gotten the restraining order thrown out and h-how—how I’ll never get away from him—” She closed her eyes, tears spilling out from under her lashes. “It’s always the same shit.”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurel said quietly.

Melody shook her head. “It is . I’m—I’m a mess. Everything he says about me is right. I’m so disgusted by myself, Laurel.”

“Wrong. He’s the disgusting one.”

“I don’t know.” She leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. “God, I’m sorry. Casey, I’m sorry you had to be here. How embarrassing.”

“It’s okay,” he said tightly.

“I really did want to get to know you better. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Really, it’s fine. I hope you feel better.” They were coming into Melody’s neighborhood, the streets slick with water, the marsh behind the housing development a dark mass, stretching out toward the sea. Sheet lighting flickered somewhere far up in the clouds, and Laurel could see in its eerie light that Casey’s hands were tight on the wheel, his knuckles pale. “I’ll just drop y’all off,” he said.

“No.” Laurel bit his lip, not sure what he meant to say, only sure that he didn’t want to let Casey out of his sight, not yet. Melody gave him a look. Despite the smeared makeup and the glaze of alcohol, her eyes were curious and perceptive.

“Please come in,” she said. “Let me get you a drink, or something. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t—” Casey said, but Melody was already clambering out of the car, unsteady and chaotic in one heeled wedge and one bare foot. Laurel rushed after her, worried she would trip on the stairs. He didn’t have time to see if Casey was following, but he didn’t hear the engine start back up, either.

In the kitchen, Melody was clattering around, yanking a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and pulling glasses out of cupboards. “Do you want something?” she asked.

Laurel looked at her helplessly. “Honey. It’s the last thing you need.”

He felt awful for saying it, because her face fell, and the tears returned to her eyes. “Fuck,” Melody said after a moment. “You’re right. Fine.” She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and started emptying it down the sink. The air in the little kitchen took on an acrid, flammable quality that made Laurel’s eyes sting. “I should quit anyway. It’s not helping. There are beers in the fridge, too. Would you help me get rid of those?”

He had just picked up a can when he heard Casey’s voice over his shoulder. “You can’t.”

Laurel turned around. Casey was standing in the middle of the dining room, his eyes ringed in white, his hands at his sides.

“What do you mean?” Laurel asked.

Casey looked past him, at Melody, who was wiping down the sink. He crossed his arms. “Look, I don’t know you. I don’t know how much you drink. But it’s not safe to just quit anything cold turkey, not if you’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Melody offered him a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Casey shook his head. “You should go to the hospital.”

“No way. They’d recognize me. It’s humiliating.” Melody sighed. “Besides, this isn’t the problem, not really. Everything has to go.” She pushed past him, down the hall toward her bedroom. Laurel heard her rummaging around in there, pulling out dresser drawers.

He bit his lip, looking at Casey. Had it really just been an hour ago that they had been tangled up with each other on the sofa, Casey’s hand on his belt buckle and the taste of cinnamon sugar on his lips? He opened his mouth to say something, to apologize, maybe, but Casey cut him off.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.” He was exhausted, the can of beer in his hand suddenly feeling like it was made of lead. For a moment, he almost wanted to cry. “She’ll be okay. It’s not—it’s not to that point, you know?”

And then he felt like a dizzy little idiot, because Melody came back into the room with two baggies in her hand, one containing a little bit of cocaine and one bulging with what could only be called a shit-ton of assorted pills.

“Jesus, Melody,” Laurel said, before he could stop himself.

“It’s prescription. Well, some of it. And some is recreational. And I needed the Xanax to come down from the Adderall, but then I needed the Adderall for—and oh my God, Laurel.” She threw her hands up in the air. “You have nothing to say.”

Laurel glanced guiltily at Casey, who was probably regretting every choice that had led him into this den of degenerates. “Sure. Ok. But how do we even get rid of this stuff?” His neck felt clammy, and he could hear his own voice teetering on hilarity. He was quickly swinging from the depths of exhaustion into some kind of absurd humor, and he couldn’t seem to control it. “Do we wash it down the sink, too? What about the water table? Melody, what about the fish? What about all the little frogs?” He pictured the denizens of the marsh getting disastrously high on Melody’s supply, and a giggle escaped him.

Somehow, Melody was laughing, too. “I don’t know. I think we flush it down the toilet. Right? Like in a movie?”

“Let me do it,” Casey said. He slid the bags gently off the table. “I need—I need to go to the bathroom, anyway. The smell in here is making me lightheaded.”

He was right; the sour-sweet smell of alcohol in the kitchen was overpowering, and it didn’t get any better as Laurel and Melody emptied out the rest of the beer cans. They ran the water for a long time, but an acrid odor remained. Laurel offered to make coffee, as much to sober Melody up as to cover the smell. He had to stay awake, too. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but it had gotten dark out, and he would need to spend the night watching out for Melody.

The rain had lessened to a drizzle. Casey was still in the bathroom, so maybe the pills didn’t flush well. Or maybe he was just avoiding them. Laurel suggested taking their mugs out into the balcony.

The night air was syrupy and thick, full of frog and cricket song. A heavy mist hung over the marsh and wove through the trees, illuminated by the light from nearby windows. High up in the clouds, there was another brief pulse of lighting.

“Do you think we’ll get any hurricanes this year?” Melody asked, cradling her coffee, face upturned to the sky.

“We might. It’s the right weather for it.” Laurel remembered seeing something on TV about a tropical storm forming further south, but he hadn’t really been paying attention.

“I wonder if it’ll ruin your mom’s soirée .” She pronounced the word sarcastically.

Laurel scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling foolish. “Maybe. Are you still going to come?”

“I don’t know.” Melody clicked her nails against her coffee cup. “It doesn’t seem like a great idea. Not if I’m, you know, trying to make healthier decisions.”

“Right.” What even were healthy decisions, anyway? Clearly Laurel had no idea. “Melody, I’m sorry I haven’t been there. And—and when I have, it’s just been to party. I’m a fair-weather friend at best, and an enabler at worst.”

“And I’m a hopeless sad sack who can’t get over her ex and trauma-dumps on her best friend.” She made a face.

“Best friend, Hell. I can’t believe I missed your calls.” He couldn’t get over it; it was twisting around and around like a corkscrew in his chest, hot and sharp.

She shrugged. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should have dealt with it on my own, or—or called Chip, maybe. But I got all in my head about it, you know? I didn’t want him to see me that way. I didn’t want him to know about the restraining order, not after he worked so hard on it.”

Laurel put a hand on her shoulder. “He does care about you. You know that, right?”

She shrugged. “Do I? I try to. I’m grateful for Chip, and for Kierra, but—sometimes I feel like they’re just here out of pity. Or, like, if they actually knew how awful I am, they’d want nothing to do with me.” Melody shuddered, despite the warm mug of coffee in her hands. “ He used to tell me that, too. That he was the only one who understood me. That no one else would love me if they knew how much was wrong with me.”

“Girl.” Laurel groaned. “We’ve all got things wrong with us.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She chewed her lip. “Anyway, he seems nice.”

“What?”

“Casey, silly.” She turned to look at him, hair tangled, twin half-moons of smeared mascara under her eyes, and Laurel felt a soft, helpless pang of affection for her. “He’s sweet. A little bitchy, maybe, but sweet underneath.”

Laurel swallowed. It was at the tip of his tongue, all of it, the party and the scam and how it didn’t feel casual, not anymore, and how this dumb, Byzantine scheme of his had turned around and sunk its teeth into him and now all he wanted was for Casey to stay.

Melody put a hand on his. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything.”

He sighed. “Melody, are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“I don’t know, either.”

She stretched, loosening up her shoulders and neck. “Want to go inside and sing along to the live version of Silver Springs over and over again?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask.”

*

Casey startled, biting back a curse as the sliding door to the balcony opened. Whatever Laurel and Melody had been talking about out there, they seemed to both be in a much better mood, and the easy familiarity between them made a little thorn of bitterness lodge in his chest. He didn’t want to be here. There was a sour taste in his mouth and his stomach hurt, and his sinuses were all clogged up from the friendly cat that followed him into the bathroom, disrespecting his need for privacy. It had been weaving its sleek little velvet body around his ankles for the last fifteen minutes.

“Hey,” Laurel said. The cautious smile on his face made Casey’s stomach clench. He could feel his phone burning in his pocket like it was radioactive. Five missed calls from Denise, all in the last hour.

“I—” he tried to think of something to say. Laurel’s eyes were big and luminous, and suddenly Casey couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him unhappy again. “I have to go.” He sniffled. “Allergy attack.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Melody said, her face turning pink. “Luna has, like, a sixth sense for that. She loves bothering anyone who doesn’t want to pet her.”

It was a cute name for a cat. Melody was cute, too, somehow. Messy as hell and almost too pretty, and he found her, much like he had the cat, oddly endearing and wanted nothing to do with her. But she and Laurel seemed almost like brother and sister, so if he wanted to get close to Laurel, he would have to—

(He wasn’t going to get close to Laurel. What was he thinking?)

His phone was ringing again, setting his teeth on edge.

“I have to get this,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. And he added, “Sorry,” not sure what he was apologizing for but sure that whatever was on the other end of the line wouldn’t be good, not for him and probably not for Laurel. He shot Laurel one last look, trying to soak him up for just a little longer, and then he was darting out the door.