Page 65 of Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 3)
“Why don’t we do the drive-in for dinner?” Vic asks, exhaling and then looking over at me. “Since it’s just us three tonight.”
A shiver races through me.
We’re not picking the girls up from Jennifer Lowell’s house until the morning.
That means … I’m going to be alone with Vic and Aaron, the two boys in Havoc that are the furthest apart, the most at odds. I’m also going to be operating under a whole new set of rules. Havoc Girl. I get to define what that means between me and each boy the same way they define their relationships with each other. Essentially, we’re a family where each pair of people decides how they want to behave together.
“Let’s do it,” Aaron says, turning to head toward the Bronco and then pausing like he’s just thought of something. He glances back at us, and Victor raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah? You want something?” he queries, his voice mild but laced with an edge of irritation underneath. He might’ve given his okay to the rest of us, but he’s not happy about it.
“Bernadette can ride with me tonight.” Aaron doesn’t waver in his statement nor does he ask; his words are not a request.
“Mm, okay, so,” Victor starts, lighting up a cigarette. Either he’s nervous, or he just likes a good smoke after a drive-by. No big deal. I don’t even consider the fact that Callum likely killed the guy he shot. My boys in black, I feel like they’re untouchable. “When I said you fuckers could work on your own shit, I didn’t mean you could boss me around. I’m still in charge, Fadler.” Vic nods at me with his chin. “Bernie can choose what she wants to do: ride on my bike or carpool with you.”
I stand there for a minute, feeling like my body is being pulled apart by two powerful magnets, one on each side, desperate for a piece.
My initial reaction is to flip a coin and let fate decide.
But I’ve got to be more than some limp-ass, dangling ball sack that crumples to pieces at a simple flick of a finger.
Since I rode here with Vic, and I want to know why Aaron’s staring at me the way he is, I make the decision and decide that I’m going to stick with it. No matter what.
“I’ll ride in the Bronco and we’ll meet you there?” I ask, and even though Vic keeps smoking his cigarette and acts like he doesn’t care, his shoulders stiffen up.
“Yep.” He flicks his smoke aside as I follow Aaron to the car.
“I have to say,” Aaron tells me as I climb in and shut the door behind me, my eyes flicking back to Victor and his motorcycle only once before my attention lands on Aaron and stays there. “You surprised the shit out of me, Bernie.” Aaron pulls his sweatshirt over his head and accidentally takes his shirt along for the ride.
I see full belly and chest and ink, all at once.
Aaron’s chest piece is of a girl and a boy kissing in the rain, a see-through umbrella above their heads that shows off the stormy sky. There are even holes in the umbrella, leaving the couple to be soaked by the storm.
Son of a bitch.
I close my eyes for a minute, and then force them open as Aaron tosses his hoodie into the backseat and pulls his tee back on.
“Surprised in a good way, I hope?” I ask as he starts the car and turns on the heater.
The way he looks over at me, with wavy chestnut hair falling over his forehead, the gold in his eyes blazing in the starlight, I feel a pitter-patter in my chest that makes me gasp.
“In a phenomenal way,” he assures me, looking over his shoulder before he pulls out of the garage drive. Aaron flicks the brights on as we head down the dark street in the direction of the drive-in, the one on the Prescott side of the tracks that serves the best food. It’s called Wesley’s, after the owner’s son. Rumor has it that the kid was killed on the Prescott High campus during his senior year. Of course, this was over twenty years ago, but I know how grief works. Time does not ‘heal all wounds’. That’s a load of shit. The only thing time does is extend the length of time between breakdowns.
I still can’t look at a frozen waffle without thinking about Penelope. Legit, the last time I saw someone eating one on a commercial, I broke down into violent sobs. That is how grief works. So even if ‘Wesley’ has been dead for decades, I bet his parents still have moments where they can’t breathe, where they wonder if it’s worth it to keep going or if it’s better to give up.
