A Need So Beautiful (17 page)

“Double-fisting drinks tonight?” I ask as I approach.

“It’s for you. Figured you’d come back empty-handed.” He looks back casually and passes me the glass before motioning to the statue. “Do you think her nipples are disproportionately large?”

I step next to him, both of us staring over the naked woman in front of us. “Maybe a little,” I say seriously. “But I think it’s open to interpretation.”

“Most good art is.” Harlin lifts his glass for a sip and then turns to me, his eyes a little glassy. I wonder if he had two drinks in his hand before these. “How’s Sarah?”

“Bad.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Not unless you want to go track down some high school boys to beat up.”

He seems to consider it. “Ask me again in an hour.”

I look around the room, taking it all in. The art. The people. I’m living and everyone is seeing me. Harlin sees me. I turn to him. “Do you remember that time we went for donuts in Vancouver?” I swallow hard, suddenly scared of what he’ll say.

He smiles softly. “You mean when you
dragged
me to get donuts in Vancouver at three in the morning to prove they weren’t better than VooDoo’s?”

“Yeah. That time.”

“Of course. You were wearing my T-shirt and when we got back, Jeremy nearly had a coronary because he thought we’d been out drinking.”

“And you told him to relax. It was only decaf.” I giggle and suddenly, I feel light. He remembers. Even the smallest detail, he remembers.

I’m not going to become a Forgotten. I’m beating it. I smile and sip from my glass, leaning into Harlin.

He finishes off his wine before reaching over to take my mostly full glass. He downs it and then puts them both on the tray of a passing server before grabbing another one for himself. I narrow my eyes at him. “What?” he says. “You can’t handle your alcohol. And besides, they’re free.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to have twenty.”

“Sorry, Charlotte,” he says loudly enough to get a few stares from the people around us. “It’s too noisy. I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“Now,” he says, squeezing my fingers playfully, “let’s go find more naked things to stare at!”

Harlin reaches in his pocket to peek at his phone, and then slides it back in. I look sideways at him. “Who is it?”

“No one,” he says, glancing over the room and avoiding my eyes.

I tsk and reach into his pocket to take out his phone. He doesn’t try to stop me and when I check it, I see he has six missed calls. “Harlin?” I ask.

“My mom,” he answers, so I don’t bother scrolling. “Next weekend would have been my dad’s fiftieth birthday and she wants to have a remembrance. I told her I can remember him just fine, but she’s going all out.” He looks over and his face is pained. “She’s having a birthday party and making his favorite dinner. It’s sick.”

I lower my eyes and put his phone back in his pocket and in the same movement wrap myself around him in a hug. He’s not really hugging me back, but I don’t care. I get on my tiptoes toward his ear.

“I’m sorry.”

He holds me then, putting his chin on my shoulder. I hate that his mom forces these things on him, but I also hate how Harlin’s handling it. It’s like he pretends it never happened. If I could use the Need I’m sure it would tell him to deal with his grief. But I can’t force the Need to work. It only forces me.

I close my eyes, my fingers tickling the back of his neck. “We should talk about it,” I whisper.

“We’re at a charity ball,” he whispers. “Not really the bare-your-soul type of environment, do you think?” He moves his head so his lips graze my neck. “And all these breasts seem to be staring at me no matter where I am in the room. They’re following me.”

“Idiot.” I laugh, and pull back enough to look at him. I grab his jacket and kiss him, not really able to help myself. We’re making out, respectfully (it is a charity event), when someone clears his throat.

Harlin and I turn, still attached at the lips, and see a serious-looking man in a tux standing there. Sarah’s father.

“Nice to see you, Charlotte,” he says, his voice deep and intimidating. I doubt he means it, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Harlin.

“Hi.” I dart my eyes around for Sarah, but she’s nowhere in sight. She might still be at the bar.

“Have you seen my daughter?”

“Daughter?” I’m the worst liar ever. I stare at Sarah’s tall, imposing father and try to smile. “She’s getting us a table?”

He narrows his gray eyes, and then tightens his mouth. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“Statement?” I’m so blowing this.

He exhales and nods. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you in the banquet room.”

Harlin grins as Sarah’s father walks away. “You are so subtle, Charlotte. Are you a ninja?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m sure he didn’t find that at all suspicious.”

“Harlin!”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stop,” he says. “But where is Sarah? You might want to find her before we sit down for chicken with that man. What will you say if he asks you to pass the mashed potatoes?
Mashed potatoes?
” Harlin finishes, imitating my voice.

I slap his arm and then pull him forward through the ball. He’s right. I should find Sarah before Daddy Dearest sends out security looking for her. Just then I see her father standing in the doorway, watching us.

Great. He’s probably CIA trained and planning to follow me. I’ll lead him right to the bar. “Stop here,” I murmur. Harlin and I pause at an abstract—meaning I can’t tell what the hell it is—painting.

Harlin is staring at the picture like he gets it, a smug smirk on his face. I study him, not caring about any other piece of art in the room. Just then I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. His jaw tightens but he makes no move toward it.

“Are you going to answer that?” I ask.

“Do you think the artist knew this work was terrible while he was painting it?”

“No. But I’m not asking about that.”

Harlin turns to me, looking serious. “What
are
you asking about, then?” His eyes are narrowed like he’s daring me to talk about his mother.

“How you’re going to deal with her. You can’t just keep ignoring her phone calls.”

He smiles like it’s a silly statement and turns back to the painting. “Of course I can.”

This isn’t exactly the moment I was hoping for when I decided to come to this event. I wanted a normal night, a night where Harlin and I would be together, all dressed up and proper. But now I just want him to fix things with his mother. I’m tired of him keeping everything bottled up.

Harlin continues to stare at the painting, sipping from his wine glass. “The brush strokes on this are too wide,” he says.

“She’s grieving, Harlin. Maybe she needs you to pull her out of it.”

Harlin pauses mid-sip, and then lifts the glass to finish it off. When he’s done, he sets it on the base of a statue and looks sideways at me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What? We haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Let’s leave for California right now and never come back.”

I’m completely caught off guard, and step toward him. “I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “What about Mercy?”

Harlin’s mouth curves into a smile and he takes my arm, resting his forehead against mine as he stares into my eyes. “Run away with me,” he breathes, smelling sweet from the wine. It’s intoxicating. “Run far away with me.”

I feel a rush of electricity and my body warms considerably.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I close my eyes. I can feel how much he needs me, how much I need him.

“You have me forever,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”

“Mm . . .” I’ll run away if he wants. I’ll go anywhere as long as I can feel like this—so beautiful and calm. I feel alive.

“Good,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me softly. “And you only have to do one thing for me.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t talk about my mother again.”

I gasp and pull out of his arms. “Are you serious right now? You just said all that stuff to get me to stop asking about your mother?” My cheeks prickle with embarrassment, a bit of anger.

“No, baby. I meant every word,” he tries to explain, touching my hand. “You know I did.”

I yank away. “You’re an ass,” I murmur, and move over to the next painting.

I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring Harlin as he comes to stand next to me. He presses his shoulder against mine, then leans down, brushing his lips against my ear.

“I’m sorry.” He says it so softly it’s just a breath. “I love you,” he repeats over and over, putting his hand on the curve of my back. I close my eyes and lean into him, letting him put his arm around me.

I want to spend forever with him. I want that to be true. But I have to fight the Need to keep him. To stay alive.

Harlin kisses the top of my head, just as I open my eyes to stare at the painting in front of us.

There are angels in the clouds beating back red and black devils crawling out from underneath the ground. I can’t tell which side is winning, and I don’t know what it’s symbolizing. But I feel like I know more about it than I want to.

Chapter 17

A
ccording to the bartender, Sarah got a drink and his phone number. But then she left and he didn’t see which way she went. Harlin and I had wandered out to the back lawn, but she wasn’t there, either. And now it’s time for dinner.

“She’ll show up,” Harlin says as he pulls out my chair for me. I look around nervously and he sits down. I’m not sure I can cover for Sarah at this point. Where the hell is she?

Immediately, I feel Sarah’s father’s eyes on me from the next table over. But I pretend not to notice him and make a show of saving the seat next to me, telling people loudly that she’s in the bathroom. Not super classy, but it’s all I can think of on the spot.

I check my phone all through the starter salad and give Harlin my roll because I’ve lost my appetite. I’m completely worried now. Sarah’s been gone for close to an hour.

As the appetizers arrive, I see her father toss his napkin down on the table and walk toward us. Harlin coughs and nudges me with his elbow, and my heart begins to race. I turn innocently to look behind me, and Sarah’s dad is standing there.

“Oh, hi, again!” I say. Lame.

“Where is my daughter?” he asks, not bothering with the niceties anymore. He folds his arms over his well-tailored jacket.

“She’s not back?” I ask, looking around.

He bends down over me. “Cut the nonsense, Charlotte. Go get her. Now.”

His voice demolishes me, making me feel small. I nod quickly and scramble up, nearly knocking over my water glass. I shoot a look at Harlin, who is glaring at her father, almost like he’s ready to fight.

“Harlin,” I say quietly. When he looks over at me, I shake my head. Harlin curls his lip like it’ll kill him to not punch the man, but then he turns and takes a shrimp from my cocktail.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to both of them and jog through the room, my heels clicking. When I get out into the lobby, I call her phone but she doesn’t answer, and I look toward the back door. I can’t return to the dinner without her.

The kitchen is buzzing as the servers plate up the entrees and I make my way through to the loading dock. I have no idea where else to look. I dial her again and then put the phone to my ear as I push out the exit. The minute the heavy metal door closes behind me, I hear the familiar sound of her ringtone—“Just A Girl” by No Doubt.

I don’t see her, but I follow the sound. I’m officially freaking out as I start to walk faster, suddenly afraid that she’s been hurt or kidnapped.

“Sarah?” I call out, walking around the Dumpster. Just then, I see her heel poking out from the other side. I run to her.

She’s lying there on her side, her red hair fanned out around her. There is an empty bottle of tequila near her hand and bunch of foamy puke next to her head. I kneel down and turn her face toward me.

“Sarah,” I say again, trying to wake her up. Her eyes flutter, but then she’s out again. Checking the bottle, I see that it’s empty and I wonder if she stole it from the bar.

She gags and turns her face out of my hand to puke next to me. Not much is coming out and she seems to choke on it. She’s barely coherent as she holds herself up, gagging.

“Did you drink this whole bottle?” I ask. She moans something but I can’t understand her. I dial Harlin. I have to take care of Sarah—get her out of here before her dad finds her. She needs a doctor.

Harlin laughs quietly when he answers. “Sorry, Charlotte. I’m in the middle of this really fancy dinner. Can I call you back?”

“I need you.”

“Where are you?” And I can hear his chair push away from the table and the sound of his breathing quickening as he hurries out of the banquet room. He is my hero.

“Through the kitchen toward the loading dock. Hurry. We need to get Sarah to the clinic.”

He hangs up, and I brush back Sarah’s hair now that she’s done puking. “Did you drink the entire bottle?” I ask again.

She smiles, her face blotchy, her eyes unfocused. “The whole damn thing,” she slurs. “Tell my father that.”

“You might have alcohol poisoning,” I say, even though she’s not listening. She’s drifting in and out. “You shouldn’t have done this,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have let you.”

Heat burns into my skin and I feel it begin.
No.
I force myself to stay near Sarah, but it’s hard. The Need is pulling me back into the party. It’s like it doesn’t care that Sarah needs my help now. Like my life and my loves don’t matter—just some higher purpose.

“Stop,” I tell myself. I won’t leave Sarah, not when she’s here like this. The Need has to wait. But as I resist the pull there is a tearing pain through my chest.

I fall to my knees, scraping them on the concrete. Oh God. Where’s Harlin? The metal door at the back of the building bursts open and slams into the bricks. Harlin jumps the stairs and he’s running to me, his dress shoes clacking on the pavement.