Waiting Game: Ocean Bay #2 Page 4

  "It was never about getting over her," I snapped, shaking. "She was my best friend."

  "And losing her fucked with your head," he agreed. "It took you years to get over it." He released a heavy sigh. "Don’t let all that hard work be for nothing."

  "Well, I can't ignore her now," I practically spat, glaring at him.

  "Hardly," Rourke replied. "All I'm saying is don’t beat yourself up for getting on with your life."

  Too late for that.

  "I need to see her," I blurted out, jerking to my feet. "Talk to her…explain…fix this. Right fucking now, dammit!"

  "And there he goes," Rourke grumbled, whispering now that the room was filling with our teammates. "Falling down the damn rabbit hole again."

  The Past

  Eight years ago

  Molly

  He was bleeding again.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor with my back pressed to his bedroom door, and watched him go nuclear on his trophy wall, waiting quietly for the moment he would tire out and break.

  "Fucking scumbag," Daryl continued to hiss and snarl, using cuss words that no ten-year-old should, as he flung his trophies and medals against the wall. "I'm gonna kill him!"

  His desk went next, with books scattering everywhere, followed swiftly by a picture frame that contained a portrait of his family. "I hope you fucking die!"

  When his room was in complete disarray, he reached for the faithful duffel bag under his bed and began to fling random items of clothes inside.

  Meanwhile, I watched his every move and counted down from five.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One –

  A pained cry tore from his chest and he dropped to his knees right there in the middle of his bedroom floor.

  Right on cue, I scrambled onto my knees and crawled over to him.

  With his head bowed and his chest heaving, he reached for me, wrapping his arms around my waist so tight it was hard to breathe.

  Crying hard and ugly, he buried his face against my stomach. "I h-hate h-him."

  "Me too, D," I whispered, cradling his head to my belly. "Me too…"

  Present Day

  Molly

  Throwing a party at my house was a risk that I knew I shouldn't be taking.

  My father's absence while away on an extended business trip didn’t signify an absence of his rules. They were strict, extensive, and absolutely still in force.

  Yeah, I was pretty sure I regretted my party before it even started.

  I wasn't ordinarily a rule-breaker, nor did I relish in the prospect of disappointing my father, but when the opportunity to be a normal teenager for once, not to mention the possibility of spending a sliver of time with my old friend came my way, I took it.

  At least that's what I told myself as I wandered through the party that not only represented my debauched and delayed passageway into adolescence, but my fall from grace as well.

  "I didn’t imagine anyone would actually come," I admitted after I had squeezed through a few dozen classmates and found Mercy in the kitchen. The entire downstairs of my house was jam-packed with kids from school, most of whom I was positive didn’t know my name.

  With her long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, denim cut-offs, and a tight, pink tank clinging to her lush curves, Mercedes looked every inch the Floridian beach babe. Whether she cared to admit it or not, she fit in with these people.

  The beautiful crowd.

  The elite of Ocean Bay.

  Me?

  Not so much.

  "Yeah? Well, this is what I imagine piss tastes like." Gagging, Mercy pressed a cup to her lips, making comical facial expressions as she forced herself to swallow the liquor down.

  I didn’t drink, I'd never even had a sip of wine before tonight, however I found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with my friend as I, too, forced myself to drink the amber liquid in the cup she handed to me.

  For a brief moment, I wondered what Pastor Michaels would think if he saw me now, before quickly batting the notion away. I could atone for my sins in the morning.

  Tonight, I would enjoy fulfilling them – even if I felt acutely out of place in my own freaking home.

  "It…burns," I choked out with a shudder.

  "It sure does," she mused, scowling mistrustfully at my father's top shelf bottle of scotch that was sitting on the counter in front of her. "Burning piss."

  "True that."

  "Hey, are you sure your dad's cool with this?" she asked then, glancing around us.

  Not even close to being cool.

  "Absolutely," I lied. "Besides, he's away on business for at least another two weeks." That part was true. Dad didn’t want to be in Ocean Bay and expressed his displeasure by taking as many out of town business trips as he could. Stepping outside, I gestured to the keg at the back door. "Here, help me with this, will you?"

  "I can try," Mercy offered, taking hold of one side of the heavy barrel. "But I warn you now, the strongest muscle in my body is my tongue."

  A laugh escaped me. "I'm so freaking happy you moved here." Trying and failing to drag the keg over the lip of the back door, I blew out a heavy breath. "I've missed this."

  "Missed what?" Mercy grunted, puffing out a breath. "Aiding and abetting minors in the consumption of alcohol? Yeah, I'd miss that, too."

  "Having a friend," I corrected her. "One that doesn’t look at me with pity and discomfort."

  Her face fell. "Molls."

  "I'm okay, I promise," I was quick to assure her, smacking on my brightest smile. "And I don’t want pity. Just answers."

  She arched a wary brow. "Answers?"

  "That's right." Steering the conversation to safer waters, I leaned against the doorway and grinned. "So fess up. Are you with him now?"

  "Who – Rourke?"

  "No, Axl freaking Rose." I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Rourke!"

  Mercy didn’t need to admit to me what was as obvious as the nose on her face.

  She was hot for Rourke Owens.

  And Rourke?

  Lord, he looked like he was about to burst into flames whenever she was close by.

  "Um, no," she mumbled. "We're just friends."

  Liar. I arched a brow of my own. "Just friends?"

  Her cheeks flamed. "With benefits."

  "I knew he liked you!" I practically squealed, clapping my hands with excitement. "Rourke has never chased a girl. Never. Not even Britt. You are his only exception, Mercy."

  "I'm not his exception, Molls," she replied, sounding a little dejected "He just wants to have sex with me."

  My brows furrowed. "Is that what you think?"

  "It's what I know," she confirmed grimly. "He told me."

  He told her that? "What a douche," I muttered. "Ugh."

  "Yeah," Mercy mumbled, biting down on her bottom lip. "And guess what even bigger douche agreed?"

  My eyes bulged. "You didn’t!"

  She nodded in shame. "I did. I freaking did!" Throwing her hands up in the air, she released a pained sigh. "And I have no idea what I'm doing because, in case you haven't already noticed, I'm not the most experienced girl around here." That made two of us. "Help me, Molly," she begged, latching onto the sleeve of my cardigan. "Tell me what to do?"

  What the heck could I tell her? I was the last person she should be asking for boy advice. How in god's name would I know how to handle a situation like Mercy's?

  I opened my mouth to tell her as much, but the words died on the tip of my tongue when the sound of a truck door slamming filled my ears. Moments later, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows and directly into my view.

  "Hey," Daryl said, joining us at the back door, looking every inch the star of the football team in his Letterman jacket and faded blue jeans.

  The second my eyes locked on his, my thought process ran amuck.

  I couldn’t remember a dang thing I had planned to say to Mercy.

  I could b
arely remember to breathe oxygen into my lungs.

  Because he was here.

  At my party.

  At my door.

  Looking at me like he knew exactly who I was now.

  "Hey," I croaked out, unable to tear my gaze from his. "I'm happy you could come tonight."

  "Yeah, me too," he replied in a thick tone, green eyes burning holes right through me. "Can we go somewhere and talk?" His jaw ticked and he gave me a meaningful look. "In private?"

  I was right.

  He knew.

  He remembered.

  "Um…I guess," I whispered, feeling my muscles coil tight with tense anticipation. I had been waiting for this moment – our reunion – for two freaking years, but now I wasn’t so sure I wanted it to happen.

  If Daryl remembered me, then he didn’t look happy about it. In fact, he looked like it physically pained him to stand here and speak to me.

  The probability that my physical appearance repulsed him caused a wave of devastation to flood my heart. I didn’t look like I how I used to. Like he would have remembered me – if he remembered me at all. I had returned a very different girl to the one Daryl King had spent his childhood with. Maybe he didn’t remember us the way I did? Maybe I never meant as much to him as he had to me. Oh god, this was bad…

  "You okay, Molls?" Mercy asked, dragging me from my harmful thoughts.

  No.

  Not even close.

  I don’t think I'll ever be okay again.

  "I'm fine, Mercy." I slapped on the most convincing smile I could conjure up, completely unnerved by how he continued to stare at me. "I'm going to go speak to Daryl." His green eyes burned in approval and I blew out a shaky breath, knowing full well that I was playing a leading role in breaking my own heart. "I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

  Molly

  Everything about this moment screamed serious as Daryl silently followed me into my house.

  It felt like I was about to be taken into yet another principal's office and given bad news. Or worse, the dreaded doctor's office. Except what could he possibly say that would hurt me worse than his two-year stint of forgetting me had?

  I used to believe that hating someone was the worst thing a person could do. I now knew it to be indifference. Indifference was a far crueler emotion to be on the receiving end of. It was cool like the storms of winter, like the ice-cold cutting sensation of hailstone tearing against your cheeks. It was the epitome of never-was. And I would much rather be a regret than a never-was.

  Than a never-thought-about.

  Without a word, Daryl followed me up my father's staircase, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. Not stopping until I was at my bedroom, I quickly turned the handle and pushed the door inwards.

  I couldn’t remember a single night before the fire when Daryl hadn't slept in my room, but it was different now.

  This was a different bedroom.

  He was a different Daryl.

  Breathing hard and uneven, I stepped inside and gestured for him to follow me.

  Wordlessly, he did.

  My room wasn't small by any shape of the imagination, but neither was Daryl, and his presence was suddenly stifling. The room felt thick and clammy with unresolved pain and hurt.

  "So…" Not sure what else to do, I awkwardly moved straight for my queen-sized bed. All I wanted to do was dive under my purple comforter and hide from this horrible situation, but I braved it out and sat on the edge instead. "You wanted to talk?"

  I didn’t have the words needed to make this a productive two-way conversation, so I was hoping Daryl would take the lead on this.

  Every Avenue's Only Place I Call Home was blaring from the speakers downstairs, one of my favorite songs in the whole world, but I couldn’t concentrate on the lyrics when Daryl was standing in my bedroom and wreaking havoc on my emotions.

  "Molly." It was one word, but it sounded like it had been torn from somewhere deep inside of him. "Molls," he repeated, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

  I blew out a ragged breath. "You finally remember?"

  He dropped his head in shame.

  That was all the admission I needed.

  He remembered.

  "Took you long enough."

  He looked genuinely distraught at that. Like my words had cut him deep, but that couldn't be right, not when it had taken him two freaking years to recognize the girl he'd spent his childhood with.

  I wondered how that must feel, to be able to erase your past like he had? A glorious revelation I could only assume. How I longed to erase the pain in my heart that echoed and lingered every day since the fire. How I yearned to forget about him. How I ached to never feel the woes of abandonment that impregnated my soul like a viper's poisoned bite.

  "It's okay." I started to shake, unable to control my own body, as a piece of my carefully constructed armor chipped away. "You grew up good, Daryl King."

  I kept my smile firmly etched on my face; the one that I used in church, the one I offered my teachers and therapists.

  I knew tears had no place in this moment.

  Besides, I'd done enough crying.

  "And you grew up –"

  "Invisible?" I whispered brokenly. "Scarred?"

  "No." Daryl remained frozen in the middle of my room, hands jammed inside the pockets of his Letterman jacket, his storm-filled eyes locked on mine. "You're not any of those things."

  Liar. Tearing my gaze from his, I plucked at an invisible thread on my comforter, feeling a million different emotions batter my fragile heart. "I never got a chance to say thank you."

  "Don’t," came his pained response. "Don’t thank me for that."

  "I need to," I pushed myself to say, needing to give him the words that I had been carrying around for eight years. "I would have died that night if –"

  "I didn’t come here to talk about that." Pacing the floor, he ran a hand through his dark hair that was perfectly styled. Shaved at the sides with extra length on top that was deliciously disheveled. "I came to apologize."

  "For what?"

  He stopped pacing just long enough to give me a look that said are you for real before quickly resuming. "I didn’t realize you were back in town. That you were… you." He threw his hands up as he spoke. "And I know that's a piss poor excuse considering you came back sophomore –" his words cut off and a pained groan escaped him before he cleared his throat and continued, "but it's all I have, and I swear to god it's the truth."

  "Okay."

  He stopped pacing to swing around and gape at me. "Okay?"

  "Well…yeah." I shrugged. "What else is there to say?"

  "Fuck if I know, but I would feel a helluva lot better if you chewed me out," he admitted, shrugging out of his jacket. "Do you mind?" he asked, tossing it on the chair beside my vanity table. "It's hot and I'm… well, I'm freaking the fuck out here, Molls."

  "No, I don’t mind," I replied with a sigh, dutifully ignoring the way his muscular arms and broad chest stretched the white fabric of his t-shirt. "And I'm not going to cuss you out."

  That seemed to irritate him even more. "Well, you should."

  "My being here might be a new experience for you, but I've spent two years experiencing your indifference," I explained with another small shrug. "I got over being mad at you a long time ago."

  Devastation flickered in his eyes. "I wasn’t indifferent. I have never been indifferent to you, Molly."

  "Then you're a fantastic actor."

  The pain in his eyes was quickly morphed by anger. "So, you what? Decide to walk around town for two goddamn years and not say anything? You just slide back into school and pretend like we're strangers?" His voice rose in anger as a vein throbbed in his neck. "Why, Molly?" He shook his head, looking at a loss. "You knew who I was. Why not just come up and talk to me!"

  "I tried!" Now I was the one raising my voice. "I freaking tried, you jackass, but you didn’t want to know, so don’t even think about trying to turn this around on me."

&n
bsp; He balked like I had slapped him. "No, you didn’t."

  "Yes, I did," I bit out, teeth grinding, jumping off my bed to stalk towards him. "My first day back in town, I went straight to your house and when you answered the door and I said 'surprise', you asked me if I was lost! You told me that I must have the wrong house – " my breath hitched and I blew out a ragged breath before continuing, "right before Jessica Newman, who was a freaking senior at the time, joined you in the doorway in a tank and panties. So you see, you chose not to remember that day, Daryl, just like you're choosing not to remember right now!"

  "I –" he stopped mid-sentence, clearly recalling the memory, before dropping his head. "Fuck."

  "Yeah," I agreed flatly, folding my arms across my chest protectively. "Fuck."

  "Well, I didn’t forget you on purpose!"

  "No, you just forgot to remember me by accident, right?"

  "I screwed up, okay!" Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me flush against his big body and the contact was far too much. "I'm done doing that, Molls." He leaned his brow against mine, eyes closed, breathing shallow. "I'm done forgetting us."

  Unable to stop myself, I closed my eyes and let my weight sag against him. I let him hold me. I didn’t push back. Common sense had no place in this moment. "Please don’t pretend you care. Not now. Not after two years of indifference."

  "I wasn’t indifferent, Molly! I didn’t know –"

  "You keep telling yourself that if it helps ease your conscience, but we both know the truth."

  He flinched. "Molls –"

  "It's okay," I was quick to concede, holding my hands up, desperate to end this painful conversation. "It doesn’t even matter anymore." Jerking away from him, I pulled at my sleeves and moved for my window, needing to put some extra space between my splintered soul and the boy that represented my walking heartache. "We were friends a million years ago. It's in the past."