Текст книги "Shredded"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
Соавторы: Tracy Wolff
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“Oh, just a little,” I tell her sarcastically.
“Believe me, I’m not defending him. Or Luc. But there are a lot of reasons Z is the way he is. Still, I figured you deserved to know. He can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”
“Really? I haven’t seen that at all.”
Cam laughs, a full-bodied, I-can’t-believe-you-said-that-but-I’m-so-glad-you-did kind of laugh, and somehow I find myself laughing with her, despite the fact that Z is an even bigger creep than I thought.
“So, what did he bet?” I ask when we finally calm down.
I’m thinking twenty bucks or dinner or even just bragging rights, so I’m totally taken aback when Cam answers, “His favorite snowboard.”
For a second I don’t even know what to say, what to feel. What kind of people are these that they can so casually bet away something that costs six, seven, even eight hundred dollars? I didn’t grow up on the streets or anything, but we always struggled at the end of the month. And where I come from, seven or eight hundred dollars is a lot of money. Throwing that away just because of pride or whatever the hell made him make that bet seems absurd. Not to mention arrogant as hell.
“Wow,” I say eventually. “He must be pretty confident that he’s going to get to fuck me.”
For a second Cam looks pained, like she wants to say something else, something more. But then she just shrugs. “He’s got reason to be. I don’t think he meant any harm by it, but I still thought you had the right to know.”
I’ve got a million retorts on the tip of my tongue, but Cam is Z’s friend. She’s loyal to him. And she’s already stretched that loyalty by telling me about the bet in the first place. No need to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already does.
“It’s no big deal,” I force myself to tell her. “But thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it.”
She searches my face for a few seconds, and I make sure I’ve got my mask firmly in place. Good thing I’ve had a lot of practice using it over the last year, because it seems to fool her.
But before she can say anything else, the guys spot us and walk on over. “Ready for ice cream?” Luc asks, casually draping an arm around Cam’s shoulder.
She leans into him with a grin. “Are you buying?”
“I am,” Z answers. “I figure I owe you since I kept you all waiting around that damn clinic for hours this afternoon.”
“You didn’t keep me waiting,” I tell him.
He grins at me. “Yeah, but you’re new to Park City. You can consider it a welcome-to-Utah present.”
More like an I-want-to-fuck-you present. As if. I haven’t slept with anyone since Remi and I’m sure as hell not about to start with some punk-ass snowboarder who thinks he’s God’s gift. I eye him up and down. “Funny, you don’t look like the Welcome Wagon.”
“Oh, but he is,” Ash says on a laugh. “Trust me on that one.”
“Yeah,” Luc adds. “Z’s got a whole lot of welcome in him.”
“So I hear,” I answer with a smirk.
Cam chokes on her own spit, then glares at me as Luc pounds on her back. But I just smile benignly. After all, two can play Z’s game, and it’s about time he knows it.
Chapter 5
Z
Ophelia really likes ice cream. I mean, she really likes it.
That, or she’s just trying to torture the shit out of me, which I totally wouldn’t put past her. But I’m not the only one aware of how she’s eating her damn cone—one slow, lingering lick at a time. Ash is practically spellbound by her little pink tongue and the crazy wicked things she’s doing with it, while Luc is doing everything he can not to look at her, which only makes it more obvious that he’s aware of what’s going on.
Part of me wants to punch the shit out of my friends for what they’re thinking, but how can I when I’m thinking exactly the same thing? Especially when I’m the one who bet I’d have her in bed by next weekend.
At the time, it was pure self-preservation—no way could I keep standing there while the three of them looked at me like I was one step away from being a basket case—but still, betting I could fuck Ophelia? That’s low, even for me.
Then again, what she’s doing right now is just as low considering she has no intention of sleeping with me tonight—she’s been throwing out hands-off vibes since she ran into me at the clinic. Which makes the fact that she’s all but giving that fucking ice cream cone a fucking blow job even worse. Because even though I know I’m not going to get any action tonight, at least from her, my cock can’t help but fucking respond to every flick of her tongue.
I’ve given her space all evening, partly because I feel guilty because of that stupid bet and partly because I still intend to win it. Not just because I have no intention of losing my freaking Landlord but because after spending the last few hours with Ophelia, I want her more than ever.
At first she was nothing more than a distraction. Then she was a challenge. Now … now she’s still a challenge, but she’s something else, too. Something more. The thought has me shifting uncomfortably in my chair. I never do more. I never even want more. It’s crazy to think that any of that might change just because some pretty girl with a peaches-and-cream accent dumped a fucking drink down my pants.
“You ready to go?” I demand, more harshly and loudly than I probably need to. But I can’t help it. If I have to sit here and watch Ophelia do obscene things to that scoop of chocolate cherry ice cream for one more second, I’m going to say to hell with space and drag her very sexy ass onto my lap so I can do some obscene things of my own.
“Yeah, sure.” Ash shoves his chair back from the table like he’s been searching for a reason to get the hell out of Dodge. Not that I blame the guy. The last half hour can’t exactly have been fun for him. Not with the way Luc is making goo-goo eyes at Cam, who keeps glancing at me from under her lashes while I lust after Ophelia, who is doing a damn good impression of giving head to an ice cream cone. Ash probably feels like he’s fallen down a fucking rabbit hole—of the pornographic kind.
“But I’m not done with my ice cream,” Ophelia complains.
“Yeah, you are.” I snatch the cone out of her hand and dump it into the nearest trash can. It’s one thing for her to eat the thing like that in here, where we’re the only customers. There’s no way I’m taking her out on the street with it, where every asshole tourist in Park City can imagine exactly what I’ve spent the last thirty minutes thinking about.
“So much for the Welcome Wagon,” Luc mutters, but Ophelia doesn’t object about the lost cone. Instead, she just looks at me, her big green eyes so innocent that I know—I know—she’s screwing with me. She’s been playing me from the second she came back from the bathroom tonight, messing with my head just because she can.
Which somehow only makes me hotter.
Not that I have any intention of letting her know that.
I’ve been desperate for a distraction for two days. Desperate for something, anything, to hold back all the bullshit tumbling around inside me. So far, meeting Ophelia has done a pretty decent job of it. Which means it’s time to take things to the next level. Time to—
I catch sight of a mom and a little girl walking through the door of the ice-cream shop and freeze in the middle of pushing back from the table. The girl, maybe six or seven, has long black hair, big blue eyes, and cheeks rosy from the cold. One of her hands clutches her mother’s, while the other holds a ragtag stuffed rabbit that has definitely seen better days.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. She looks just like April. Her hair, her eyes, her smile. Even her damn purple jacket looks the same.
I turn away, just in time to realize that Cam has seen the girl, too. I can tell by the way her eyes widen and dart back and forth between the girl and me. By the way she grabs Luc and wrenches him to his feet. By the way her voice sounds all wrong when she says, “Time to go.”
Then again, maybe it’s my ears and not her voice. God knows, everything feels off inside me, the pressure building up where no one can see. Just like last night, only worse. So much worse. Because tonight I’m shaking apart, ripping at the seams until the jumbled mess inside me is even more mixed up. I’m shredded all over again.
And because of what? A morbid anniversary that I shouldn’t bother remembering and a little girl and her damn stuffed rabbit.
It’s ridiculous. Humiliating. And at the moment I couldn’t care less.
I head for the door at the closest I can get to a run, brushing past the girl and her mom without so much as an Excuse me or a Fuck you. I’m sure I look like a total pussy to everyone—Z, cracking under the pressure—but right now that doesn’t matter. Nothing does but getting out of here.
I hit the nearly deserted street and start walking, barely aware of the fact that the others are trailing me down the sidewalk. I’m pissed—at life, at the universe, at that damn little girl even though none of this is her fault.
It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault. Trying to blame someone else won’t change anything.
The thought has me slowing down enough that the others can catch up to me. Ash bumps shoulders with me on the left, while Cam grabs my elbow on the right. I know they’re concerned, know they’re just trying to help, but right now sympathy is the last thing I need—especially when it’s sympathy that I don’t deserve.
I want to shrug them off, to tell them to back off, but none of this is their fault, either. So in the end, all I do is knock my own shoulder into Ash’s even as I wrap my arm around Cam’s shoulders. Then I turn to grin at Luc, who is walking right behind me, a worried look on his face that I know I’m responsible for. Even Ophelia looks uncomfortable, like she’s aware she missed something important and doesn’t quite know how to act in the face of all this tension.
Time to change that, and fast.
“So, who’s up for a party?” I ask, reaching into my back pocket for my phone. “I got a couple of texts earlier about one at Mandy’s house and one at—”
“Seriously?” Luc interrupts me. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
Damn straight. “I was also going to ask if you wanted to stop by Danny’s and get some weed, but—”
“You’re a jerk. You know that, Z?” Cam looks furious.
“I never said I wasn’t,” I tell her with a grin.
I glance at Ash, expecting him to say something to back me up, but he just looks sick. Goddamnit. Bad enough that I’ve already been to the ER today, but now I’m dragging them down with old baggage that none of us can escape from.
“You don’t have to front with us, man,” Luc says. “We get it—”
“No, you don’t.” The words pop out before I even know I’m going to say them. But I’m not doing this. Not here. Not now. And sure as hell not in front of Ophelia. “I’m fine.”
Ash actually grinds his teeth. It’s obvious he wants to say something, but unlike Luc and Cam, he’s very aware of the fact that Ophelia is with us. I wait for his frustration to get the better of him, but it doesn’t, and in the end he keeps his mouth shut.
That doesn’t mean Luc and Cam will, though. And I’m done with being the charity case of the week. Before I really know I’m going to do it, I turn and sprint toward the small community park at the end of the street. I can hear them behind me, their boots crunching on the new layer of snow that coats the ground all around us.
Reaching down, I cup a handful of snow as I wait for them to catch up. Then, after shaping it into a perfect ball, I fling it straight into Cam’s face.
For long seconds, nobody moves. Even Cam just stands there with her mouth open as snow drips off her eyelashes and down her cheeks.
“What the hell?” Luc demands, looking pissed all over again. But before he can say anything else, a snowball hits him square in the chest.
I glance over at Ophelia, who is grinning with pride. “Cool,” she says. “This is my first snowball fight.”
There’s something in her eyes, something that says maybe she understands where I’m coming from, though I don’t know how she could. I barely understand myself. Still, I’m not about to waste the opportunity she just presented me with.
“Your first snowball fight?” I demand, even as I scoop up more snow. “How is that possible?”
“There’s not much snow in New Orleans,” she answers dryly.
“Is that where you’re from?” I ask, suddenly curious to know more about her.
“Born and raised.”
“So, what brings you to Utah?” It seems a strange choice for a southern girl who’s never had enough snow to make even a few snowballs.
Instead of answering, she sends a second snowball careening straight toward me. It hits me right between the eyes, even stings a little. The girl is a fast learner.
I bend over and start to scoop up some snow, and she takes off through the park. She’s not used to snow, doesn’t know how to run in it, so she isn’t moving very fast. I could catch her without even trying, but instead I let her get a little ahead of me. Lull her into a false sense of security.
Sure enough, after she’s gotten twenty or so yards in front of me, she turns and looks over her shoulder. And that’s when I let her have it. I send a snowball soaring across the distance between us, then watch with satisfaction as it slams straight into her chin.
Some girls would probably get mad—kind of like Cam—but Ophelia just gives her tinkling-bell laugh, a pure, rich sound that echoes through the empty park. It gets to me, has a chill running down my spine even as my cock twitches a little. Especially when she gathers up more snow and makes a huge snowball. There’s something really sexy about a girl who knows how to play.
I don’t bother to turn around, don’t even think about dodging or running. I’m too fascinated by the laughter she makes no effort to hide and the sparkle in her normally sober eyes. I brace myself for impact, but once again this girl is full of surprises. She whirls at the last second and hurls her snowball straight at Luc.
By the time he figures out he’s about to get hit, it’s too late for him to do anything other than jump to the side. The snowball gets him in the arm, exploding into a million clumps of snow on impact.
And then, quite simply, it’s on.
The rules are simple: there are no rules. And while it may seem vicious to some, this no-holds-barred game is exactly what I need.
Since there are five of us, it starts out as pretty much every man for himself. Still, I stick close to Ophelia in case she runs into trouble. Running on snow can be treacherous, and the last thing I want is for her to slip and break a leg her first month in town. Especially when this is supposed to be about fun, not pain.
We end up running through the whole park twenty or thirty times, Ash and Luc hot on our heels the whole way. Snow is everywhere, so we have no problem making snowballs and lobbing them at the two guys whenever they get too close to us, but we focus so much attention on them that we forget to look out for Cam. Which is stupid on my part, because finding a hiding spot and then building a stockpile of ammunition is totally her modus operandi. She’s been doing it since we were kids.
Sure enough, we’re making yet another circuit of the park, trying to get to the retaining wall in the back corner so we can make our stand without worrying that someone will creep up behind us, when a volley of snowballs rains down on our heads. Cam has set herself up behind the art wall of one of the playscapes so that she’s perfectly shielded as she sends snowball after snowball flying at us. One after another, again and again and again, until we give up any attempt at fighting and instead look for a place to hide.
Ophelia tries to duck behind a teeter-totter, but it’s too exposed. As soon as we turn our attention to Cam, we’ll be sitting ducks for Luc and Ash, who are already circling.
Grabbing Ophelia’s hand, I pull her behind a large tree and flatten her against it with my body. She stiffens, but as the snowballs start flying, she figures out pretty quickly that I’m trying to protect her.
“Get down,” I shout as they start coming faster. Ash and Luc have obviously scented blood in the water, and they’re going to annihilate us if we don’t do something soon. “Start scooping up snow.”
“What’s that going to do?” she demands, even as she starts raking at the snow with her gloved hands. “They’ve got us.”
They do. I know they do. But I’m not willing to give up yet. This is Ophelia’s first snowball fight, and I started it. The least I can do is protect her if I can’t actually help her win it.
I bend down, making sure to keep her covered even as I start to scoop snow as well. “Make as many as you can,” I tell her, “But don’t throw any. Not yet.”
She turns her head, peeks over my shoulder. “You’re getting pummeled.”
“Doesn’t matter.” It’s not like I don’t spend the better part of every day surrounded by or falling into snow. Besides, Ophelia’s shivering already. If I move and she gets hit with a continual barrage of snow, she’ll probably end up with hypothermia or some such shit.
The snowballs are coming fast and furious now, one after the other, and from two different directions—Cam, who has moved out from behind the wall, is hitting us from the right, while Ash and Luc are attacking us from the left.
Which is exactly where I want them.
“How many snowballs do we have ready?” I hiss at Ophelia, bending down to look at our pile.
“Twenty or so,” she answers as she continues to scoop up snow.
Not enough, but they’re closing in. We’ll be pinned down in seconds, and then there really will be no escape. At least not without a faceful of snow.
“Get ready,” I tell her, gathering up fistfuls of snowballs.
She nods, does the same.
“On the count of three, launch everything we’ve got at Luc and Ash. Got it?”
“Yeah.” She moves from her knees to her feet but keeps low in a crouch so that I can still cover her. I like that she does that, though I don’t know why it matters.
I count off, and at three we both explode into action, lobbing snowball after snowball straight at my two best friends. It turns out Ophelia has one hell of a throwing arm, because she nails them both in the face, again and again.
When they’re both covered in ice and snow and are too busy wiping their faces to pay attention to us, I lob two last snowballs straight at them, then grab Ophelia’s hand and slip around to the other side of the tree. Shouts echo as Cam’s snowballs suddenly make contact with Ash and Luc now that we’re not in the way anymore.
We run full out across the park, bobbing and weaving, dodging snowballs and curses and laughing so hard that we nearly fall down two different times. Ash and Luc can’t keep up, though, and soon we’re closing in on the safety zone the four of us established years ago, when we were just kids.
We’re almost there, so close that I can taste victory, when Ophelia suddenly steps on a slick patch of snow and her feet go sliding out from underneath her. I try to catch her, but our legs get tangled together and we end up going down hard, together. I shift her so that I’m underneath and take the brunt of the fall while she is stretched out on top of me.
“That was—that was—” She’s laughing too hard to finish, her long, curvy body pressing itself to mine as she shakes with amusement.
Her green eyes are staring into mine and I know she expects me to laugh with her, but the feel of her body against mine is setting off another whole set of alarms, ones that have nothing to do with laughter and everything to do with sex. She feels good, really good, and as she squirms to sit up, I get hard.
It’s inappropriate and crazy and kind of unexpected considering that we’ve just been running around together like a couple of kids, but I can’t help my response. She’s right fucking there, her sex burning hot where it brushes against my cock. So hot that I can feel it through her jeans and the boarding pants I’ve been wearing ever since I took a header on the half-pipe hours ago. Luc and Cam hadn’t seemed inclined to give me time to change before going to the hospital, and with my head feeling like it had been split in half, I hadn’t been inclined to argue.
Now, however, I’m cursing them up one side and down the other. If I were in jeans, I’d be able to feel her so much better. Her heat. Her wetness. My dick actually twitches at the thought, and Ophelia’s breath catches in her throat.
She doesn’t pull away, though, like I expect her to. She doesn’t slap my face, doesn’t stand up, doesn’t do any of the things I think she will. Instead she sits up and grinds herself, slowly, carefully, determinedly, over my cock. And embarrassing though it is, I swear I almost come at just that touch. Which is crazy, except—in my defense—the girl does one hell of a hip swivel.
Of their own volition, my hands go to her hips and I hold her in place for one second, two. Every urge I’ve got tells me to thrust up into that heat. I’ve been sexually active since I was thirteen years old and I’ve learned a lot in the last eight years. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge, right here. Right now.
Except Luc, Ash, and Cam are running straight at us, and while I don’t normally mind a little PDA, something tells me that once I start fucking Ophelia, I’m not going to want to stop. At least not for something as boring as listening to my friends gloat over their damn snowball fight victory.
Which is why I ease Ophelia off me, even though it takes every ounce of willpower I have. She blinks a little as I set her down on the ground next to me, and suddenly the lust in her eyes clears, becomes something else. The second it does, she scrambles backward, away from me, before jumping to her feet. This time her legs hold her, but I think that’s more miracle than actual skill.
“Ophelia.” I sit up, reach for her hand. I don’t know what I want to say, but I know I can’t leave her like this. With her eyes wild and her arms wrapped around her waist, she looks completely freaked out. Worse, she looks empty. I’ve had enough experience with the feeling to recognize it in her.
But before I can do anything more than say her name again and climb to my feet, the others are on us.
“You okay?” Luc asks her as he wraps a comforting arm around her waist. “That was one hell of a fall.”
“I’m fine,” she says, and though she’s still stiff, I notice that she doesn’t jerk out of his hold. Instead, she stands there, her body sagging a little against his, looking completely comfortable. Way more comfortable than she looked when we were together.
It pisses me off. Then I get pissed off about being pissed off. Luc is my best friend, and Ophelia’s just some girl, some bet. And yet I can’t stand the way he’s touching her, can’t stand the way he ducks his head and murmurs something only the two of them can hear. Even if it’s nothing, even if he’s just checking on her, I still don’t like it.
I jump to my feet, shove my hands in my pockets. Focus on the fact that this latest fall has aggravated all the aches and pains I got from my earlier swan dive in the half-pipe. My leg has started aching again and the bruises over my ribs throb in time to my heartbeat.
The hospital offered me a script for painkillers, but I didn’t take it. I know the nurse thought I was crazy—or a recovering junkie—but the truth is, the pain is part of the reason I do the things I do. It grounds me in a way nothing else can.
“Are you all right, Z?” Cam lays a gentle hand on my arm. “You didn’t hit your head again?”
“I’m all good,” I tell her, shrugging off her touch. It feels like she’s offering so much more than friendship with that hold, and it’s not something I want any part of. With anybody, really, but certainly not with her.
“So, what’s next?” I ask. “One of those parties or—”
“I’m going home,” Ophelia says.
I glance at my watch. “But it isn’t even ten o’clock yet!”
She shrugs. “I’ve got work in the morning.”
“So do we, but you don’t see any of us punking out early!”
“Guess I’m just not as cool as you, Z. But then, who is, right?”
Ash makes a big point of coughing to cover a laugh, so I shove him and then flip him off. Whose side is he supposed to be on anyway?
“If you really want to leave, I’ll walk you to your car.” It’s dark in the park, but I can still see her eyes. They’re wide and a little startled, and I decide not to push her anymore.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Ophelia answers. “It’s just a couple of blocks that way, right?” She gestures toward the park’s entrance.
“Actually, the clinic’s parking lot is that way.” I point in the exact opposite direction. “About three blocks.”
“Right. Cool.” She tosses her hair, tries to act like she’s not flustered at all. But I can tell she’s spooked. Right now, tough-as-nails Ophelia is anything but. “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys tonight. It was fun.”
She gives a little wave, starts to walk toward the other side of the park. I fall into step beside her, while Cam, Ash, and Luc bring up the rear. Now that they know we’re okay, they’re back to boasting about how they kicked our asses in the snowball fight.
We would have been home free if Ophelia hadn’t slipped, but I don’t bother to correct them. I’m too busy trying to ignore the way she smells—all sweet and warm, like peaches in the summertime. It’s a good smell, one that’s doing nothing to help my dick deflate even though it’s obvious I’m not going to be getting any action with her tonight.
“You don’t have to walk with me,” she tells me, sounding irritated. “I can find my way back to the clinic, you know.”
“No doubt. But it’s dark, and while most of the tourists are tucked up in their beds at the resorts, you don’t know who’s out wandering the streets. It’s safer if we go with you.”
“I don’t need a protector, Z.”
“No one said you did.” I glance at her. “Besides, does it look like I’m applying for the job?” With my tattoos and piercings and all-black wardrobe, no one looks less like a white knight than I do, and believe me, I know it.
She looks me over from head to toe, and for a second it looks like she might say something else, but in the end she just shakes her head and keeps walking.
We make the rest of the three-block trip in silence, the only sound that of our boots crunching in the snow and the laughter of my idiot best friends, who are still behind us. I try to think of something else to say, but for the first time ever I’m at a total loss for words. I don’t have a clue how to talk to this girl.
Once we get to the parking lot, Ophelia says, “My car’s parked right over there.” She points vaguely toward the left side of the lot. “Thanks for walking me.”
“No problem,” Ash tells her.
“You okay driving back to the lodge on your own?” I ask suddenly. It’s snowed some since we’ve been out, and the roads are slick and a just a little icy. No big deal for me, but Ophelia’s a southern girl. Icy streets are a whole new ball game for her.
My friends turn to stare at me—I guess they’re not used to me giving a shit about anyone but them—but I ignore them. I may be a loser and a fuck-up, but I’m not a total dick. Or at least, I don’t think I am.
She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m good, Z.” She gives me a little push. “Go get your car at the movie theater and go to that party or whatever. I’ll see you around.”
Then, after giving the others a little wave, she starts across the cleared and salted parking lot with long, sure strides.
I watch her go, her confident gait eating up the distance between her and the dark blue Honda sitting under one of the huge parking lot lights in the first row. She doesn’t look back once, but still, I wait until she reaches the car and fumbles her keys out of her purse before I turn away and head back up the way we came.
“So,” Luc says as we head back to my car. “What was all that rolling around on the ground with Ophelia?”
“Shut up,” Cam snaps at him, sounding totally annoyed. “They fell.”
Ash snorts. “Yeah, right. That totally looked like a fall. If, you know, a fall is another word for foreplay. You better start looking for another board, Luc. I think you’re going to have to kiss your Flow Darwin good-bye.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s been twenty-four hours since they met and Ophelia’s driving herself back to the lodge, with no invitation for Z to follow. That has to be a first.”
He’s right, it is, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me wants to just fuck her and get it over with, but another part is growing a little more interested in her, in who she really is, each time we meet. Ophelia never says much about herself, but I can see that there’s more to her than the tough-girl attitude and the snappy comebacks. I just wish I knew what it was—and whether or not finding out will fuck me up more than I already am.
I don’t say anything else as we walk back to my Range Rover. But as we pass one of those electronic signs that flash the date and time, along with the store’s specials of the day, there’s a part of me that freezes as I see today’s date up there in bright red lettering. November 18, 2013. November 18. November 18. November 18.
The knowledge explodes through me, nearly rips me to pieces. Not the date, not even what the date stands for—what it will always stand for. No, that’s not what shreds me completely. It’s the fact that for the last couple of hours, while I ate ice cream and had the mother of all snowball fights, I’d forgotten. Forgotten what had happened to them. And forgotten my own culpability in it.
As if I had that right.
I stumble, nearly go to my knees as it all slams right back into me. The guilt and pain and pressure of it. The blame and the agony of it, so heavy that only years of practice—years of holding that shit way down deep—keeps me on my feet and moving forward.
When we get to my car, Ash suggests hitting up one of the parties I mentioned earlier, but I just shake my head. I’d only suggested the parties because I wanted to spend more time with Ophelia, and now just the thought of squeezing into one of those crowded, smoke-filled houses makes me crazy. The pressure’s so bad I can barely think, can barely breathe. The last thing I need is to be trapped in the middle of a crush of bodies.
