— Chapter 55 —

=||=||=

"Nothing?"

The prettiest bartender in the world offered me a slow-moving grin. "Nope."

"Come on," I said, "You've smoked through three blunts in the last half-hour and you expect me to believe you don't feel anything?"

Elliot chuckled. "Is it really so mind-blowing to think that I'm capable of out-smoking you?"

"Nobody's capable of out-smoking me, sugar."

He folded his hands into the pockets of his jeans and teased me. "So you say, and yet you're struggling to keep your eyes open, aren't you?"

"I can see plenty."

Alright. So maybe we hadn't left the truck immediately after Chains came looking for us.

It was my fault, really. I lit up another blunt, and just like that, Elliot and I managed to get ourselves fried. Or I did, at least. We barely made it up to the porch. Mostly because I couldn't walk in a straight line, and because Elliot didn't have the upper body strength to carry me. But it was amusing to watch him try.

The weed-induced smile wouldn't wipe off his face. "You can hold onto me if you want, sugar," he hummed. "I promise I won't let you kiss the floor."

He's so pretty.

I hoped I didn't say that one out loud. "Jealous of the floor now, are we? You wanna get all up on this and pucker up and kiss me..."

My singsonging made him blush.

"Shut your mouth," he mumbled, clumsily pushing my jaw up with his palms. People were beginning to stare at us as we walked back into the house, and Elliot's cheeks were as beet red as his eyes. "You're so high."

A small grin pulled on my lips. Stepping through the crowd at the front door, we finally made it back inside, and Elliot used me as a human shield to push past all the inebriated people. He mumbled something about my muscles being made of titanium steel.

While he was busy suffering from the attention of people passing by, I slung my arm over his shoulders and smirked.

"You know, I distinctly remember you almost greening out after a few edibles and a little tequila. Crave? Remember that?"

"I didn't know they were edibles," he pouted, "and Chains likes the strong stuff. You said so yourself."

I laughed. "Oh... you could never out-smoke me, Love. Just admit it. Admit you feel woozy and I'll let it go."

The two of us pushed through the crowd into an expansive living room. From the blurry shapes in my vision, I could make out the vague figures of Shooter and Chains by a big amp in the corner.

"I don't feel woozy," Elliot promised.

"So you say, and yet you've been touchy with me ever since we stepped out of that truck."

I got chills down my spine just thinking about it—the electricity of Elliot's hands gripping my hair, his trembling breaths against my skin, the warmth of his body melting into my own while we made every attempt to fucking consume each other. And Elliot's laughter... those gentle smiles of his, and the dimple in his left cheek... that kind of purity was beautiful.

In his presence, I just felt like I was floating. Lost in a sea of stars. Weightless. It was as if someone had finally drawn the curtains, letting me absorb every color of the rainbow in high definition after spending so many years caught in bleak folds of black and white.

He was a ray of sunlight that I kept trying to catch with my own bare hands.

My Darling.

"I have not been touchy," he huffed.

"Oh, yeah? Where's your hand right now, Elliot?"

He looked down. His hand was right at the small of my back, guiding me through the party. I watched him yank it away and laughed out loud.

"Fine," he admitted, "Maybe my face is a little tingly."

"I bet I can kiss it bett—"

But Elliot, whose ears were already going pink, cut me off before I could finish. "Chains, there you are!"

Oh... I'll get you, Alley Cat.

Chains and Shooter were the life of the party. They had their arms over each other's shoulders, beers in hand, wailing the lyrics to 'Take Me Home, Country Roads' as loud as they possibly could. Swaying with each other, they looked a lot like two wacky inflatable tube men—if wacky inflatable tube men were high on marijuana and got wasted on stale beer.

"Country roads... take me home!" They sang together. "To the place... I belooong... West Virginia! Mountain mama! Take me home..."

At least they were in time with the music.

I sighed to Elliot, "It could be worse."

He grinned at the comment.

"You're off-key, asshat," Chains grumbled to Shooter while the song played, elbowing his side. It wasn't hard to miss the many Wendy's boxes by their feet.

Shooter giggled. He actually giggled. "What, and you think you're on it?"

I snapped my fingers at them.

"Come on," I decided. "This place is a comatose snooze-fest and I'm ready to head the fuck out."

"Aw, man," Shooter complained. "One more song?"

"I need to find my keys," murmured Chains to nobody in particular.

"You've got work in the morning and Chains get crabby when he doesn't get a full eight hours in. If I have to listen to him complaining about it tomorrow I'm gonna smack you both upside the head. So let's go."

Chains made a face. "You could try, old man."

"No, Chains," I said, still bitter at his interruption earlier. "I don't want to hear a word out of you, actually."

He furrowed his brows, confused. "Was it something I said?"

"You know what you did."

Elliot chuckled from off to the side but said nothing.

Shooter, who'd been busy giggling, squinted his eyes my way—only to explode into a bout of unhinged laughter.

Sticking his finger to my neck, he snickered, "Jesus, did you get in a fight with a vacuum cleaner?"

Elliot looked to me—or more specifically, to the no-doubt very red splotch resting just over my sweet spot. He looked like he was admiring his own handiwork, trying to hide the smile that threatened his lips. I could feel my neck flushing from embarrassment.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was in that truck again. Elliot was driving me insane. I still hadn't forgotten the ecstasy that came with every kiss and bite he was kind enough to bestow on me. He was intoxicating... a rush of adrenaline in my icy veins.

Just what is it about him that gets me so high?

Slapping Chains' hand away, I quickly covered the hickey with the collar of my jacket. But the silver-haired biker had already seen, and was now laughing along with a very hysterical Shooter.

"You're telling me Chains went looking for your ass while some chick was busy sucking the soul out of you?" The burly guy was on the verge of tears.

Chains pointed both middle fingers my way.

"You little shit," he frowned, pausing to hiccup. "My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined."

Just about sobbing with laughter, Shooter made sure to add, "Hope you remembered to wrap your tool, buddy."

"I hate you both."

But that wasn't enough for them, apparently, because Shooter nudged Elliot for more answers. "Was she pretty, at least?"

I gave the pretty bartender a look, begging him not to add fuel to the fire. But Elliot just shrugged at the biker and smiled.

"He likes to think so."

I watched his smile grow at the heavy sigh that left my lips. Naughty little thing.

"You sly dog!" Shooter cried, swinging his hand over my shoulders. Chains laughed. God, they're both so dense.

Neck flushed red with heat, I grumbled timidly, "Let's just go."

But the two wasted bikers continued to poke fun at me, and Elliot made a point of asking before we left, "Have you guys seen my friends around here anywhere?"

"What, your band?" Shooter pressed his brows together and loudly announced, "Yeah, in the basement! I drank all of Angela's tequila."

Random. But it made Elliot chuckle. "Awesome. Uh—thanks."

He waved the rest of us off while we walked away. Chains patted his pockets down and mumbled something about his keys again, but before I knew it, we were out the door... and Elliot's smile was just a fading beam of light in my perfectly horrible memory.

It was a lot harder to find the basement than I thought it would be. After knocking around on a few doors, walking in on a few... unspeakable things, and pushing past the boisterous crowds, I finally found the basement door beneath the staircase.

"Riven?" I called out as I descended, hearing the group's loud chatter bouncing off the walls.

"Yooo!" Riven called when he saw me. "Taylor!"

Sitting on an old couch in the middle of the basement, Riven, Nate and Lucille were busy getting high from the bong being passed around the group. James was reclined on a blue comforter beside them, his phone in his hand. Angela was nowhere in sight. An old TV sat across from the group and blared some kind of video in their faces.

I asked with squinted eyes, "What the hell are you guys doing down here?"

"You won't believe what Luce found in her luggage, man!" Nate told me. "Here, siddown."

"What did you find?"

Lucille pointed her finger to the screen and grinned. "Remember that old videotape we made back in junior year? The one that Nate made? I held onto it—come look!"

Videotape? I recalled, hurrying down the rest of the stairs to join them.

Oh no.

Stopping before the TV, I ignored Riven's offer for popcorn and glanced at the screen. Surely enough, a videotape from our high school years, playing in low quality for the group to see.

Standing on the porch of my old house, a younger-looking Riven got the doorbell and turned to face the camera. His build was a lot leaner, and his hair was neatly cropped—not like the muscular build and messy curls that he had today.

"Why are you recording this?" He laughed at whoever was holding the camera next to him.

"Are you kidding?" Nate's voice answered. "Someday our band's gonna be rich and famous, dude. People are gonna pay to know our origin story."

"Origin story my fat ass. I don't want people knowing I live in my grandma's basement."

"You dumbass," Nate teased him. The front door behind them opened, and my mom's smile flashed in view. "Sup, Mrs. T?"

The sight of her face tore a long cut through my heart. I knew this video. It wasn't long after a release from the hospital, where she'd come down with another bout of sickness. She was frail. Her skin lacked any warmth to it, grey hairs streaking through her brunette hair. She was weak and looked as fragile as a house of cards, but she still smiled as if there was nothing wrong in the world.

"Morning, boys," she grinned warmly, letting Riven and Nate inside. "I think they're still asleep, but feel free to go wake them. I'm making breakfast if anyone's hungry. Blueberry pancakes."

The sound of food made Riven grin from ear to ear. "Oh, man, you're a blessing, Mrs. T!"

"You can stuff your face later," Nate pressed, pushing Riven in with his spare hand. "Let's go, big guy."

Walking through my house, Nate and Riven began to break out into fits of muffled giggles. Riven held his finger up to his lips in warning.

"Have you got the stuff?" asked Nate from behind the camera.

"You kidding?"

Riven pulled a can of whipped cream out from the pocket of his bag—and a case of pie wrapped up in silver plastic. Nate shushed profusely as he tore open the packaging and squirted the cream into the pastry.

"Go, go!" Nate hushed, a laugh between his words.

Pushing open the door before them, the video came to focus on my bedroom. Or more specifically, me and James curled up on my bed. Fast asleep, all you could see of me was my brown hair. James had his chin on my head and was holding me in a protective embrace.

A funny feeling settled in my chest at the video... I could remember how much I loved him back then.

Nate and Riven must have been too loud as they walked in because James woke up at the sound of their laughter. Quickly spotting the pie drowning in whipped cream, his eyes widened in an instant.

"Don't you dare," he warned, moving to stop the impending crisis. But it was already too late.

"April Fools, suckers!"

And just like that, Riven threw the pie at my face.

Lucille, Riven, and Nate burst out into laughter on the couch, tears forming in Lucille's eyes. James chuckled. I didn't take my eyes off the screen.

The younger James woke me up as he practically leaped off the bed to my defense, calling out to Riven, "Oh, you are so dead!"

The video caught a few seconds of the boys chasing each other through my house while my mom scolded them in the background. It then stopped on a shot of James and Riven roughhousing, while Nate howled with laughter in the background.

"Look, look!" Nate laughed, smacking James's arm to get his attention. Zooming in on someone in the hallway, the video came to focus on me.

I was standing with whipped cream clumped together on my face and hair, surprisingly chill despite having a desert slammed into my head. With a short shrug, I swiped a peak of whipped cream off my head and licked it off my fingers.

Young Nate guffawed, "He's fine with it!"

Passing the three of them a look, you could hear me mention, "Not the worst way to wake up, to be honest."

The scene ended with me licking whipped cream off my hands and my mom calling us all over to eat breakfast. It was nice to be reminded of that memory, watching the screen cut to black.

"Man, I loved these videos," Nate said from the couch, a genuine smile on his face. "What I'd give to go back in time for a day."

"Gosh, I almost forgot how short you were," Lucille said to me lightheartedly. "Nice to see you packed on a few more inches in height over the years."

I heard James add under his breath, "Not so tiny anymore."

"Oh, this one is good!" Riven called out, drawing our attention to the screen again. A new clip had begun to play, and the four of them were busy snacking on popcorn as they watched.

I leaned on the arm of the couch, my eyes widening slightly at the video.

"Hey, you guys sound really good!"

The voice belonged to a young Riven, who was sitting on the leather couch in my old house. The video came to focus on two people standing not far away from him.

Me and my mom.

Working away in the kitchen, my mom was twirling about as she cooked dinner, light on her feet with a bright smile on her face. Stretching a ball of dough in her hands, she sang joyfully to the tune I was strumming on the old Yamaha that James had gifted me. Sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, I sang the lyrics along with her, struggling to hide the happiness on my face.

The memory struck a sad chord in my chest.

Playing the notes to a basic melody, my mother complimented my newfound skills in percussion with the sound of her angelic voice. You would think she were a born performer, dancing around the kitchen and delighting everyone who had the chance to listen to her. Her voice was smooth and sweet like sugar, cutting swiftly through the air in a perfect pitch. Not even the quality of the TV's audio could take away from that.

But the camera then panned away to someone on the couch. My father.

He was sitting with a hockey game playing on our old TV, but his focus was entirely on my mom and me. My father was stunned. There was a small smile on the sides of his lips, listening intently to the way his family embraced the music. I almost didn't even recognize him.

For a little while... he looked happy.

"Why're you smiling, Mr. T?" Riven chuckled to my father, while my mom and I continued to sing along. My father snapped himself out of his daze and turned to face the screen.

He uttered, "You better get that camera out of my face, son."

The screen cut to black again. But I finally remembered. I remembered what this DVD had in store for us next.

And I remembered exactly why I broke my copy.

My heart sank in my chest as the next clip began to play. My mom. She was looking at the camera with me in her arms, her pearly grin and hazel eyes hiding just how much pain she was in at that specific moment. That little clip was the last time my mom ever held me in her arms.

"You guys have fun," I mumbled, ready to escape before the walls started closing in any further. "I think I'm going to head out for the night. Thanks for inviting me, Lucille."

"Aw, are you sure?" she asked, getting to her feet. "We were just about to—"

"Don't worry," I assured her, trying to offer up a smile. "I had a lot of fun."

Slipping out of the basement and back into the party, I found myself balling my hands in the pockets of my jeans, feeling the cold nipping at my arms. I really should have brought a jacket. Pushing through the crowd, I eventually found myself outside on the porch of the house.

Someone's laughter drew my attention from somewhere in the distance.

My heart warmed at the sight of them. Noah, standing with Chains and Shooter on the sidewalk, laughing in a conversation while probably waiting for a cab to come and pick them up. Noah had a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke flurrying into the wind.

But then I saw her... Angela.

Standing across from the vice president of the Stray Dogs, she was wearing his infamous jacket and grinning innocently while some kind of jokes were tossed up in the air.

Whatever funny feeling had stirred in my stomach, I didn't like it.

Noah's jacket...

I bit my cheek and tried to shake the thoughts out of my mind, but they just wouldn't budge. The group continued to laugh amongst each other. Noah never let his eyes up off Angela. And the more I looked at the letters embroidered on that leather jacket, the more bitter I felt. It's just a jacket.

Someone's magnetic voice spoke up behind me.

"You'll freeze to death out here."

Breathless, I watched James drape his bomber jacket over my shoulders. I couldn't help but look at him with wide eyes—taking in everything from his raven hair, down to the v-shaped cut of his jaw and the dark chocolate of his eyes.

I asked, "Did you just give me your jacket?"

"Don't make it into a thing."

"How could I not make it into a thing?" I teased. "It's the number one cliché anyone could think of."

He gave me a look. "Excuse me for trying to do something nice for once."

His words coaxed a small smile to my lips. Finding comfort in his jacket, I admired the scent of his woodsy cologne on it and nudged him half-heartedly. "Thanks, asshole."

"You're welcome, Tiny."

I wondered, "Did you follow me out here just to do that?"

He leaned against one of the white support beams and folded his arms over his chest. "You're stoned," he said. "I was going to stand here and laugh while you tried to figure out your phone for long enough to call a cab."

My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I'm not that high."

"Ah, but that's where you betray yourself... high people never admit they're high."