Gluttony Page 19

  And by the time Adam thought to look over at her, Beth’s slim body draped across his chest, her hair spilling down his arm, Harper knew she had attained just the right look. The look that said, with ferocious determination, I don’t care.

  It all fell away as soon as she met his eyes. They looked haunted. She felt the tears spring into her own, and she was glad for the wall behind her, holding her upright. He gave her a half smile, one she recognized from years of friendship, the one he’d pulled out when he broke her Barbie doll or mashed a snowball into her face and given her a bloody nose. It said, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wish it had happened another way.

  He opened his mouth, as if to speak. But they had known each other for so long, they didn’t need words.

  She could, if she allowed herself, read the truth in his face. Whatever it was.

  She needs me now, but I need you. Just wait.

  Or maybe:

  I choose her. Again.

  Harper, he mouthed silently. Please.

  She could know everything, if she wanted to. Just from watching his face, looking in his eyes. But whatever he had to say to her, it wouldn’t change the fact that his arms were still wrapped around Beth. That Harper stood off to the side, watching, alone.

  She might need to wait a lifetime, or maybe just a day.

  But she was Harper Grace, and she was tired of waiting. He’d made his choice. Now it was her turn.

  And she turned away.

  chapter

  14

  Home.

  It was a six-hour drive, without traffic. Time he needed, to think. To figure things out. But he was having some trouble with that.

  The thinking.

  It was all muddled in his brain, the last twenty-four hours, the fear and the relief and the regret all bleeding together into a muddy, impenetrable sludge. Adam clenched the wheel tightly. He’d driven Kane’s car plenty of times before, but never without Kane in the passenger’s seat, hounding him to speed up, warning him of the penalties of living life in the slow lane—and the even graver penalties of denting Kane’s Camaro.

  But Kane was riding home in Miranda’s car, with Harper. Where Adam was no longer welcome.

  It was easy to zone out, to listen to the gravel under the wheels and the wind against the dash. It was easy to pretend that by the time he got home, everything that had happened would be forgotten. Life would return to normal.

  But he knew it was a lie. Harper wouldn’t forgive him, not this time—at least, not unless he was willing to meet her demands. And he couldn’t. He had responsibilities now, and he couldn’t walk away, even if it meant losing—

  No. He wouldn’t think about that. He couldn’t afford to. Not when Beth sat beside him, her eyes closed, her face still stained with tears. What he wanted, what he’d lost, it wasn’t important now. Beth was the one in trouble—and someone had to make sure that, whatever happened, she never ended up on that roof again. She was weak, in need. He was strong, and he could be there for her.

  He would.

  He was glad she’d finally fallen asleep in the passenger’s seat, glad she felt comfortable enough—safe enough—to close her eyes and escape from everything, at least for a few hours. If only he could do the same.

  Love.

  Was it possible? I’m in love, Miranda thought, pretending she was saying it casually, the way you’d say, I have a toothache or I’m hungry. Like it was something that happened to you all the time. Like it wasn’t something you’d been dreaming of for years, all the while forcing yourself to stop, knowing that you had no chance of ever getting the thing you most desperately wanted.

  I got it, though. She turned toward Kane, who took his eyes off the road just long enough to give her a warm smile. I got him.

  She knew she needed to slow down. She wasn’t in love—or, at least, he wasn’t in love, not yet, and until both people felt the same way, it didn’t count. She knew that better than anyone, since she was the one who’d been longing, for all these years, watching him from a distance, waiting for him to notice.

  She still didn’t understand why he suddenly had.

  She should be cautious. She understood that. He hadn’t made her any promises, hadn’t talked about the future. Yes, he had implied that there was now something where there had been nothing, but they were on vacation. It was Vegas, where anything goes. What would he want from her when they got back home? What if he didn’t want anything?

  But her doubts couldn’t make much of a dent in her happiness. Not even Harper, moody and silent in the backseat, could do that. Miranda had already forgiven her best friend—in the mood she was in, she would have forgiven anyone anything—but much as she wanted to, she couldn’t force herself to wallow in Harper’s misery. She didn’t have room for it in her brain.

  Her body glowed with the memory of Kane’s touch, and she touched him now, just because she could. His hand rested on the gearshift, and, still a little terrified, she wrapped hers around it. He smiled at her again.

  She was allowed to touch him now, whenever she wanted. She was allowed to kiss him. Maybe she was even allowed to fall in love with him.

  Miranda wasn’t stupid. She knew she was getting ahead of herself, that things were too new, too uncertain, that if she let herself go too far too fast, she could end up getting hurt.

  But with their hands pressed together, none of that seemed to matter. When Kane smiled at her—with that look in his eye, the one she’d always been waiting for, the one that said I want you—she couldn’t help it.

  She felt like she would never hurt again.

  Maybe.

  That’s what Kane kept telling himself. He didn’t know it was a bad decision; he wasn’t sure it was going to lead to disaster. Yes, there was that feeling in his gut, that Oh, shit feeling that had never steered him wrong before. But backing down just because he expected disaster? That would be giving in to fear. And that was unacceptable.

  She kept darting glances at him, nervous, adoring looks. Smile back, he instructed himself. Play along.

  Except that he wasn’t playing, not this time—and that was the problem.

  Miranda was the one he should be worried about. She was fragile, even if she pretended not to be. He knew he could hurt her—he knew exactly how to do it. And this whole thing, this ludicrously bad idea he’d had, it was probably a good way to start.

  And yet …

  Maybe it was a worthwhile experiment. That’s how he would look at it: an experiment. Nothing less, nothing more. Maybe he could let someone in, maybe she really was different from the rest of them, the girls he strung along until they got too close, or he got too bored.

  It’s not like he had proposed or anything. A kiss was not a promise. A beginning didn’t have to last forever.

  Stop making such a big deal out of this, he thought, focusing on the road. He wouldn’t look at her again, not for a while. He would concentrate on the road ahead of them, on the wide, cement path stretching to the horizon. He would clear his mind and analyze his options. He would not panic.

  And by the time they got back home, maybe he would have an answer. He would have figured out how to make this thing work—or, at least, whether he wanted to try. What happens in Vegas … he reminded himself. It could be a mistake, trying to bring a piece of the city home with them. The two of them together, it had made sense back there—but that was a foreign land. A million miles away from Grace, CA. Who knew what would happen when they tried to fit themselves back into their old lives—together.

  It could work, he decided, feeling her watching him again.

  Maybe.

  Empty.

  It was as if someone had carved out her insides and dumped them in the garbage. Or maybe they were leaking out, slowly but steadily, because the farther away they got from Vegas, the emptier Harper felt. It was as if she’d left behind everything that had ever mattered to her, and part of her wanted to scream at Kane, beg him to stop the car, turn around, take her back.

/>   But a U-turn wouldn’t help—what she needed was a time machine.

  It was so strange, being back in the car again, back on the same highway, as if nothing had changed, when everything had. She was in the backseat now, while Kane and Miranda sat together in the front, not talking, just exchanging sly little glances, speaking to each other in that silent language that all couples have. The wordless communion that left everyone else out in the cold. Harper wanted to be happy for them, but she didn’t have it in her. All she could see was the potential for pain; all she could believe was that, in the end, everyone ended up alone.

  She had been so optimistic on the way to Vegas, stupidly thinking that she could find happiness there, that Sin City would somehow show her a way to wash herself of her sins.

  They say you can find anything in Vegas, but all she’d found were answers. She knew whom to blame now. She knew who was on her side—and who wasn’t.

  Harper stared out the window, out at the desert flatness, remembering how much Kaia had hated the unchanging scenery, with its dusty infinities and scraggly brush, as if the land had a skin condition. The ground was pitted and pockmarked. Diseased.

  She closed her eyes, trying to regain the certainty she’d felt up on that roof, her belief in the necessity of moving forward. And maybe it was possible. They had hours left on the road, time enough to cleanse herself. She would leave her emotional baggage in Vegas, and arrive back in Grace refreshed and renewed.

  She would leave behind the anger, the pain of betrayal, the misguided hope, the guilt, the bitterness. And, hardest of all, most important of all, she would leave behind the love. She would leave Adam; she would stop clinging to the past and stop hoping they could go back.

  But if she succeeded, if she really could leave it all behind … what would she have left?

  Lost.

  “Shit!” Reed pounded the wheel in frustration. He’d just passed the same crappy Howard Johnson for the third time in a row. Confirmation that he was no closer to the highway entrance than he’d been an hour ago. A fucking waste of time, just like the entire weekend, he thought.

  Except not a total waste—at least he’d found out the truth. That was something.

  He cursed the guys for ditching him—they’d hooked up with a couple of Haven High’s hottest stoner girls and were staying in town an extra night. How was he supposed to read the map and drive at the same time without crashing into the side of the damn Howard Johnson?

  Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, he thought.

  Then hated himself for thinking it.

  He pulled the van into a gas station, intending to ask for directions. But instead of getting out, he just sat there, resting his head against the cool leather steering wheel. Then he lit a joint and let his mind drift.

  Maybe this was a sign. Maybe he was supposed to be lost, stranded in Vegas, hundreds of miles from home. It wasn’t much of a home, not now, after Kaia … after Beth.

  He’d gambled and he’d lost. Big. He’d lost it all. He could start over again in Vegas. Wait tables, get a cheap apartment, start up a new band. Track down Starla. He could make a new life for himself.

  He knew it wasn’t realistic. It wasn’t going to happen. But it was nice to imagine, just for a while. It was nice to ignore the future, the crap he would face when he got back to Grace, the pain that would slice through the fog as soon as the buzz wore off.

  Eventually, he’d go inside, get directions, hit the highway, drive home. He just didn’t know why. He’d lost it all this weekend, so what did he have to go back for?

  Nothing.

  Hope.

  Beth had thought she would never experience it again. And maybe you couldn’t call it hope yet, not quite. It was just a tiny kernel of an emotion, buried so far down that she wouldn’t have known it was there if she hadn’t been so raw, if everything she thought or felt hadn’t screamed for attention. There was still so much pain, fear, sorrow, and, as always, guilt—but now there was something else, too. A tiny bright spot, a fresh breath. An expectation that maybe, just maybe, the worst was behind her.

  Hope.

  Her terrible secret had come out, she had been exposed—and then accused, and then abandoned. But not completely. She squeezed her hand into a fist, remembering how tightly Harper had grabbed her, how Beth hadn’t wanted to let go. Harper wanted her to live.

  And, as she had realized on that roof, staring down at the cement, willing herself to take the step, Beth wanted it too.

  Adam hadn’t spoken, not since they’d gotten onto the highway. And Beth didn’t know what to say, so eventually she had closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. She didn’t know what was going to happen next, when they got home, when she had to face Harper again. When she had to face the absence of Reed, who she knew would never come back to her.

  Adam, she thought. Remember Adam. She could hear him breathing next to her. She could smell his familiar, comfortable scent, and knew that if she put her hand on his, he wouldn’t pull away. He wasn’t repulsed by her. He didn’t hate her. He wanted to help—he wanted to forgive.

  He didn’t think she was worthless. And that was a start.

  It seemed silly to hope, to think that anything good could happen or that her life could return to some kind of even balance, something tolerable, not weighed down by guilt and misery. But she couldn’t help it. Behind her, Vegas was dipping beneath the horizon, and it felt like all the horrible things she’d done—or, at least, that one horrible thing she’d done—was receding along with it.

  Maybe Harper had been right.

  Beth didn’t deserve happiness, forgiveness, or peace.

  But maybe somehow she would find them anyway.

  Here’s a taste of the next—and last—sinful read …

  Greed

  The coach stood up. “This is him, our star.”

  The man sitting across from Coach Wilson stood up and grasped Adam’s hand, pumping it up and down. “A pleasure,” he said. “The coach was showing me some game tapes, and that shot you got off in the playoffs? Remarkable.”

  “Uh … thanks,” Adam said, shooting a helpless look at his coach. When was somebody going to tell him what was going on?

  “And your foul-shot ratio is damn impressive,” the guy continued, “though we may have to work on your shooting stance—it’s a little loose, but that’s easily fixed with the proper training. No offense, coach,” he said, turning toward Coach Wilson, who’d settled back into the guidance counselor’s chair.

  “Hey, you’re the expert,” the coach said, grinning. “I’m just a lil’ old high school coach. What do I know?”

  “Enough to beat me eleven-three last time we played,” the guy pointed out.

  “Oh, that’s right!” The coach slapped his forehead in exaggerated surprise. “I forgot all about that.”

  “Bullshit. It’s all I heard about for a month.”

  “Uh, Coach?” Adam said hesitantly. He nodded toward the clock. “My next class is going to start soon, and—”

  “Where are my manners?” the guy said, indicating that Adam should take a seat. “The name’s Brian Foley. Your coach and I went to high school together, back in the Stone Age.”

  “Brian’s a coach now at UC Riverside,” his coach said, giving Adam a look that was obviously supposed to be meaningful; Adam just didn’t know what it was supposed to mean.

  “Here’s the deal, Adam,” the UC guy said. “I’ve got a last-minute spot on next year’s squad, and I want you.” He tossed Adam a white and yellow T-shirt reading UCR HIGHLANDERS. “You’ve got Highlander written all over you.”

  “Me? But—I didn’t even apply to Riverside,” Adam said. “I’m going to State, in Borrega.”

  “Do they even have a basketball team?” the UC coach asked in disdain. “Listen to what I’m telling you, Adam. I want you on my team. And I can get you on my team. Doesn’t matter if you applied to the school or not. I’ve seen your transcripts, I can get you admitted. I think
I can even manage a scholarship. It’ll take some doing, but … I’ve seen you play, and you’re the guy to play for me.”

  “You can really do all that?” Adam asked, trying to process. He was going to the state school in Borrega; that had always been the plan. It was an hour away from home, one step up from community college, and everyone he knew would be there, too. Harper would be there.

  “Adam, my friend, welcome to the wonderful world of college athletics.” Coach Foley stretched back in his seat. “I can do pretty much anything I want. And, once you’re a Highlander, so can you.”

  Adam squirmed under the guy’s fiercely confident stare. “I don’t know …” He’d been counting the days until he could finally get out of school and never come back. Moving hundreds of miles away to some strange place where he wouldn’t know anyone, and would need to work even harder than he had in high school? What was the point? “School’s not really my thing.”

  “Morgan, be smart,” Coach Wilson said. “This is your shot—UC Riverside’s got a great team and, more than that, you’ll get a degree that’s actually worth something. And, once Brian here works his magic, you’ll practically get it for free. This is what we in the coaching biz like to call a ‘win-win situation.’ Don’t pass it up.”

  “He doesn’t have to decide right now,” the UC coach said, standing up. He leaned over and shook Adam’s hand again. “You’ve got two weeks.” He handed Adam a business card. Adam stared down at it, stunned, still expecting the whole thing to be a joke. But the card looked real. And both coaches looked dead serious. “Call me by June fourteenth, if you’re interested. Otherwise, the spot goes to someone else.”

  Beth flipped through the empty pages of her yearbook, trying not to care. There were a few signatures, all variations on a theme:

  It was fun being in_____class with you. Good luck in college next year—not that you need it!