Page 187 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“I was going to see how close I could get to the bonfire before my smoke caught or my hair went up in flames.” I pull in a sharp inhale, my lips painted that same beautiful red, the shade that tastes like freedom and new beginnings, but I could just be waxing poetic. The color is called Victory, after all.
“No more risks this year, Bernadette. You’ve already had enough narrow escapes as it is.” His voice trails off, and I just know that he’s thinking about it again, those last, few awful moments before his father shot me. Before he killed him. Before I died and then came back to life under the hands of some very skilled doctors.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper, leaning into him and letting him band his arms around my waist. “Stop blaming yourself. I already told you: the only way you’re getting my forgiveness for that moment is to stop asking for it and to stop feeling guilty.”
“I know,” he murmurs with a groan, nuzzling against the side of my head. “I’m trying, but it isn’t easy.”
I think about Ms. Keating’s words on the last day of school—nothing worth having ever is—and I smile. She’s been awesome lately, Breonna has. Not only has she acted as a babysitter whenever we’ve needed one, but when I was tucked up in the master bedroom at Aaron’s house, convalescing and stoned off my ass to get through the pain, she brought me plenty of treats. Apparently, her mother was a Ghanaian immigrant and she learned to cook from her. I’ve eaten things in the past few months that I’ve never heard of in my entire life.
But it was nice, like taking a trip while I was confined to a bed.
I have a feeling Breonna and I will be friends for a long while.
Well, her and Vera—which isn’t a surprise—and maybe even Sara Young.
We’ve had a lot of time to spend together, with all the questioning and shit she put me through as soon as I well enough to answer. Still, whatever happened on campus that day, it was undeniably in self-defense. You can’t attack a bunch of high school kids with assault rifles and not find fault in their attackers. Still, in order to get out of any charges for our own illegal weapons, we had to offer her affidavits to use in court about what, exactly, transpired from the time Heather went missing to the time I was shot.
Regardless, I can’t be mad at Sara Young. She’s brought charges against Neil’s father and brother and against all the rich, entitled assholes involved in either the trafficking ring or the money laundering through Trinity’s mother’s foundation.
Trinity … All I know is that her father kicked her mother out of the house. For now, Trinity is still living with him, but I’ve heard rumors that she’s no longer in his will. Gossip still travels well through Springfield. Doesn’t matter if it originates in Fuller or Prescott or one of the Oak neighborhoods; we always know and we always hear. Because we are Havoc, and this fucking town belongs to us.
“Between Brittany and my dad,” Hael breathes, but we both know how Brittany’s life is going. As in, not well. Rich Pratt took a scholarship opportunity in Florida, so he’s long-gone. And Britt had to explain to daddy Forrest that she had more than one potential baby daddy. Her friend Jennifer—via Vera’s grapevine of social networking—told us that she’s started working in her mother’s bookstore in downtown Fuller. Maybe being surrounded by all those words and all those worlds will make some sort of difference in her life? Either way, not our problem.
“We could just as easily say between Ophelia and Pamela … Hael, family takes turns cleaning up each other’s messes. That’s what we do. We belong to each other, so your problems are my problems, and my—”
Hael turns my head toward him and kisses me from over my shoulder, leaving me breathless and wanting, the way the boys always do. We’re insatiable, wild, little heathens with weekly bacchanalian affairs. Once we move into this house—and away from the sometimes too-watchful eye of Marie who’s been staying with us—they’ll probably be more like every other day affairs. Or maybe every day, at least for a while.
We kiss until the other boys join us, fanning out around the fire in the front yard of the old Gothic house, the one that Ruby cherished, the one that she left to her daughter because even when she knew that Ophelia was a snake, she couldn’t resist trying to take care of her one last time.
Aaron and Oscar take a seat on the old bench we dragged across the lawn while Cal crouches on a rock. Hael and I stay where we are while Victor presides over us like an alpha wolf regarding his pack.
