Molly’s laugh is not mean—it’s relieved, giddy even—as she twirls alongside me before grabbing my hand and bringing me to a wobbly stop. Barley—six foot five inches of American all-star with a mop of messy brown hair and what is probably a permanent simper—does a ridiculous little shimmy at my side.
Molly laughs as Barley does another jig, some crazy pseudo-tap-dance that almost blurs his feet. Beaming, I stare at them both, caught in the tide of joy that flows from them. They are happy, and I am happy—all my worries forgotten.
The song changes, and I am carried away again with the music, just another body alongside my classmates. Molly erupts in a fit of giggles as Barley backs-it all the way to the floor.
I am light, a feather cradled by the crisp wind of a fall night. The music lifts me higher, and I float among the twinkling stars, swaying and circling as my eyes close.
The music drowns out all the other noise inside of me. My mind is an empty void. The warmth of the thumping base cocoons me in its embrace. A smile tips my lips toward the heavens as the bonfire casts its glow through my eyelids.
I twirl like a little girl in a field of wildflowers. Around and around I whirl, my breath bursting past my lips in slivers of steam.
I’m a little dizzy, a little off balance, but I don’t want to stop. I know it will have to end—I can’t twirl under the stars forever—but I don’t care.
I’m right where I should be. I’m right where I need to be. Everything is perfect. I am perfect until...
Until someone bumps into me.
My eyelids snap open as the impact rips away the floaty feeling and brings me crashing back down to earth.
My gaze scrolls for a moment through my neighbors until I am drawn like a beacon to him. Ian Beckett glares at me, hellfire igniting the forges of his steely gaze. The flickering blaze of the bonfire catches his profile just right, casting his face in shadows like he’s the Devil.
An appropriate comparison, I think, because there’s only one thing I want to do when I see him: sin.
I stop moving. I stop breathing. I stop existing outside his orbit.
I am not prepared this. I want time, time to grieve, time to heal, time to fix my fucked up brain. I want to forget everything just for one night—forget William and the pills and the darkness—and just be a girl at a party happy to dance under the stars.
I am stupid.
I am naïve.
I can never be that girl again because that girl died alongside her brother.
Molly’s laughter cuts off abruptly, like the slice of a hot knife through butter as she stares at us, one hand on Barley’s forearm.
“What are you doing here, Stormy?” Ian grits out over the music. He holds a red solo cup in one hand, his other curled into a fist at his side. He barely even glances at me. He stares at Barley over my shoulder. “You came here with him?”
Oh, no.
He’s on a warpath, and I have picked up the scent of his impending wrath. It smells like the singe of smoked cigars and the hops of spilled beer, but most of all, it smells like iron and blood.
Ian is tall and built, but even by Ian’s standards, Barley is huge—I mean he’s in the NFL for Christ’s sake. Ian just glares at Barley over my shoulder, his gaze leveled at him like he’s begging Barley to throw a punch.
Ian’s nostrils flare as his upper lip curls into a sneer. The world lags as everything goes into slow motion. The music wanes as students turn and stop, watching with dazed eyes and waiting. Many of them, like me, hold their breath.
“Beckett,” Barley growls Ian’s name like it’s a curse.
The world tilts on its axis. I want to run and hide so I don’t have to see the chaos. I want to go back in time and prevent it completely.
Students part with mumbled swears as Raven elbows her way into the center of the dance floor. She’s wearing a tiara that says birthday girl in pink diamonds and a pair of silver Louboutins no amount of money will ever help me pull off.
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?!” she hisses, her gaze throwing daggers between Ian and Barley. “Seriously! What. The. Fuck!!”
Molly grabs Barley’s arm, her small hands curled around his huge bicep. He blinks and looks down at her, his expression softening. I see my chance, and I take it.
I snatch Ian’s hand, even though everything tells me to run away from the growing crowd. At first, he doesn’t move. It’s like trying to pull a boulder attached to a cliff attached to a freakin’ mountain. Then, to my relief, he follows, bellowing, “Move the fuck away!” at a lanky kid slow to scramble.
I cringe at his words. My hand burns, engulfed by the invisible flame that is his presence. People stare at us. Aurora’s mouth lands on the floor, along with the mouths of the girls she calls friends.
My heart beats a little steadier, the black at the edges of my vision creeping back into its tunnels.
One, two, three, four, blue.
One, two, three, four, blue.
I repeat the mantra inside my head.
O…one…two, three, four, blue.
One, two, three, four, blue.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get to that damned beach.
I don’t see it coming. I am lost, reaching out to a memory I can’t quite find. I freeze next to Ian when something lands against his shoulder and splatters us both in cold beer.
Ian growls, fury drawing his brow tight as the cords of his neck strain. He rips free of my hand as jerks around, his fists tight and knuckles blanched white.
Fuck!
My gaze lands on Barley, who’s grinning ear-to-ear as he waves his middle finger at Ian.
“Mother-fucker!” Ian roars,
