“Get inside before someone who shouldn’t sees us.”
I can’t breathe, let alone walk. When he notices my shock, he grabs my collar, hauling me inside the door.
My heart feels like I’ve run a lot with adrenaline coursing through it too. Is that what this is… adrenaline?
Peering at my supposed-to-be-dead best friend, I can’t function.
The door closes behind me, the snick of the lock making me more aware of my current reality. He’s really fucking here. In the flesh.
Running my chipped black nails through my short hair, I suck in a breath, wishing I had my joint still. A big hit would settle this frazzled energy in me.
“Can I light up in here?” I question, knowing I have at least one more joint in my pocket. I’ve never gone anywhere unprepared, especially after dating Colt. She’s a bigger stoner than me.
“Only if I can take a hit,” he grumbles. His voice. Shit. It’s deeper, raspy, and almost unrecognizable.
Swallowing down the dryness, I reach in my pocket for my other joint and lighter, not knowing what the fuck to do with this information. Almost a year ago, he was murdered. I saw the body when Colt rushed to it. The blood. Everything. I saw everything. There’s no fucking way he survived.
Was that somehow not him?
My mind doesn’t stick well to things it can’t understand, so I hurry with lighting my smoke and inhale as soon as it’s lit. Closing my eyes, I beg for sanity. Because I must be a head case.
“I’m real, loser,” he mutters haughtily. I can’t tell where his anger is resonating from. The fact that I fucked his sister, betraying our friendship, maybe? Or was it the biggest fuckup of all… bringing Colt into the fold, thinking it’d save her when it only put a goddamn target on her back?
Any way it’s projected, it’s deserved.
“How?” Letting out my drag, I hurry and take another hit, wondering if I’m really just that far gone. Maybe I passed out from smoking too much? Yeah, that must be it…
“Well, that’s a long story I don’t want to tell more than once. Which means, I need everyone here, and Parris is a part of that.”
I stare at him, wondering who Parris is and why he matters. Traveling over all the wealth of knowledge I have, it hits me… that is Colt’s guard’s name.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I hiss, handing him the smoke. He stares at my hand for a moment, his eyes almost bugging at the idea of smoking. Has it been that long? We used to smoke too, back when he was still alive.
He’s not dead, dick.
“Parris… what does he look like?” Cassidy’s eyes almost dilate with the thought and it has heat filling my veins. When did my best friend turn gay? What the fuck. His lips wrap around the joint and he breathes deeply, letting out a cough soon after. “Been a while,” I joke, laughing at the sputtering coming from him.
He takes another huff and lets out the loudest, yet most satisfied exhale known to man. “I met him two years ago,” he admits. His eyes light up at that and I’m already entranced like a gossip queen with popcorn and champagne. He leads me to his living room and we sit on a loveseat together, facing each other.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging,” I quip.
His smile widens and the giddy expression on his face reminds me of when we were kids and used to catch frogs at the lake. Cass, much like Colt, expresses so much with his eyes. It’s not a window to the soul, but a movie theater with a feature film on repeat.
“I honestly think I fell in love with him on the spot.” Curiosity keeps my attention focused on him, even when he hands me back the joint, I can’t take a hit without distracting myself. Right now, I need to know this story and if it’s as juicy as I’m hoping it is. “It wasn’t until our Vegas game that I’d met him.”
Trying to wrap my head around the memories of that weekend, it clicks… Vegas. The last game… we’d lost.
“Shit, you were so happy after we’d lost. I figured you were high as shit.”
He smirks. “Surprisingly, no.” After adjusting, he stands. “Want a beer?”
“You’re only eighteen, how did you get your hands on beer,” I mutter, knowing that’s beside the point.
“He might be my dad, but he’s not a hard-ass.”
I chuckle and nod. Cass stands and heads toward the kitchen. While I take another inhale, he’s already coming back with two beers. “Cheers to the fucked up situations we always find ourselves in,” he jests. In reality, he’s not wrong. We’re always in these fucked up situations and it’s always together somehow.
“I didn’t know you were gay,” I mention, taking a swig of the beer. He lazily eyes me. “Okay, okay, I wondered.”
“I knew you weren’t straight,” he returns. I’m possibly the least straight out of all the guys involved with Colt. Unlike her, girls never were more than a hole to fill. Not because they felt good, but because I hated myself enough to make me suffer. I’m a mostly gay demisexual. The connection has to be heavy and dicks appeal to me more than pussies, but Colt is special. Our connection is deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced and her soul is so fucking attractive, no matter how weird that sounds. She’s the person I can see myself marrying and loving forever, something I never thought I’d do.
She’s just… different.
Doesn’t make my denial by fucking many chicks during the last two years any less nauseating.
“I love your sister,” I admit. Not for him, or even for me, but because it’s true and honest. I love her. If she told me she hung the stars and moon, I’d believe her because that’s the power she has over me. She’s literally the lighter to my blunts, burning me from the outside in.
Even when she’s emo and goth, pretending the world doesn’t matter to her, she’s that light.
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he acknowledges. “But none of you fucks are good enough for her.”
“How do you know it’s more than me?”
He shakes his head, adding an unintelligible noise. “Don’t act stupid. My sister has had it bad for all of you and it’s been a long-ass time coming. Like, longer than she even remembers, unfortunately.” Finally, he acknowledges her memory loss. “To top it off, you guys haven’t made it any less known about your feelings. But you guys are really fucking bad news.”
“She doesn’t love us back.” The words slip out, and even saying them, it feels wrong. To some extent, she has to, right?
“You’re dumb if you think that’s the case. Even before I was gone, she was mad obsessed and I hated it.”