Gluttony (30 page)

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 Star
la. 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.