Summer of Supernovas (25 page)

“There a problem here?” Manny appears, breaking through the imposing group. I want to hug him and his mustachioed T-shirt. “I
asked
if there was a problem?”

Grant steps up behind Manny. He is livid. It’s the same fury he’d had with the guy outside of Pinky’s. I notice his grip on Manny’s arm, and anyone watching would think he was holding Manny in check. But I know different. Manny is actually Grant’s anchor.

“Yeah,” the smoking guy sneers. “This Russian bitch hustled us.”

Irina bares her teeth, gripping her stick harder. “Say it again and I’ll show you the kind of bitch I can be. I won that money—fair and square.”

Cigarette’s face turns red and a vein pops in his wide forehead.

“Sounds like you owe the lady an apology,” Manny says. “My advice? Say you’re sorry, and leave. No reason for this to turn ugly.”

A rumble of hushed gossip gains momentum as it spreads through the gathering. It’s about Grant, and something about a trip to the ER, but that’s all I catch. The circle begins to disband.

Seeing no other way, Cigarette jerks his chin at Irina.
“Sorry.”
The word is riddled with so much disdain, I almost miss it was an apology and not another insult.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ginger dart from the room.

“Irina,” Grant says low and measured, “take your money now.”

Her nostrils flare as she snatches the remaining cash. “Perhaps next time you’ll use your other head before you place a bet.” She flashes an icy smile at Cigarette. “But I’d wager it isn’t much smarter.”

Once we’re safely down the hall, I whirl around to face Irina. “Why couldn’t you stop? You had to needle and goad and take them for everything.
Why?
” I demand. “And don’t try and tell me it’s just about the win—it’s more. I know it’s more.”

Iri’s face remains colored with anger. “Because they’re so goddamn entitled! They think they can treat me like garbage because they come from money.” Irina sucks in a breath. Her gray eyes are hard as concrete.

“So what, that was some kind of punishment?”

“And no less than what they deserved.”

She’d get no argument from me. Still, I worry about the reckless way Irina often finds her justice. I worry what might’ve happened if Manny and Grant hadn’t been there to intervene. Most of all, I worry that none of these thoughts would ever occur to my friend.

Manny jogs down the hall to meet us, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. “We made sure those dickwad crashers were escorted off the premises. So, how much you clear, hustler?”

Irina shoots him a withering look and folds her arms.

“Either you start talking, or I’m gonna belt out the worst rendition of ‘The Gambler’ you have
ever
heard. Ask Grant.” Manny thumbs to his friend as he joins us. “I’m serious as a heart attack. There’s a reason they don’t ask me to sing backup.” The dark mood begins to brighten. Because that’s what Manny does. Even Grant appears more controlled.

Iri’s mouth twitches, her hard shell cracking. “Four hundred and change.”

Manny whistles. “So, like, enough change to take me to Denny’s for some Moons Over My Hammy? I could dig some swine.”

I sniff; Grant catches my eye and suddenly we’re sharing a private smile. A secret little your-friend-likes-my-friend smile. He shakes his head in further amazement while Manny employs his own brand of hustling involving a scrambled egg and pig rump sandwich.

Irina peers down at Manny, a solid four-inch height differential. “You should know I eat boys like you for breakfast.”

“And you should know I find that crazy hot,” Manny replies, undeterred.

“You’re very odd.” Irina cocks her head and studies Manny like a bug she can’t decide whether or not she should squash.

Seth arrives with Ryan and Ginger in tow. “Wil!” He wraps his arms around me. Hugging him back, I feel the concern in the rapid thumping of his heart.

“Everything’s fine, Seth. We’re okay.”

He lets go. “No, I should’ve been there, but I was trying to give you some space because of how I was earlier. And look, I’ve been thinking about what I said the other night….” Seth becomes aware of our small audience, and I become aware Grant’s disappeared like an apparition. “Can we maybe finish this in private?”

Irina touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry,
dorogaya,
I know you want to stay longer. But I’m done here.”

“Um, of course…yeah. We should go.” Disappointment crashes like a meteor at my feet.

“No, take this.” Irina pushes fifty bucks into my hand. “Stay. That’s more than enough to cab it back to my place if you need to.”

“Iri—”

“Shh, shh.”
She kisses both my cheeks. “No arguing. Have
fun
tonight. That was the point, remember?”

“That wasn’t entirely the point.” And she knows it.

“Well, then, it’s the new point.” She glances over my shoulder at Seth. “You’re
sure
this is what you want?”

“Positive.”

“Then talk to him and hash out whatever’s got him looking so damn pitiful. Smiling faces by night’s end. Hear me?”

“Yes.” I hug her. “Thank you, Iri. And I’m sorry you had such a crappy time. Those guys were—”

“Hey, it wasn’t a total waste.” She grins as we separate. “Least I cleared a nice chunk of change tonight.”

I tilt my head. “Since when are you an optimist?”

“Since my bra runneth over with cash. Manny”—Irina spins on her heel—“you’re coming with me. And so there’s no confusion, Denny’s is the only thing on the menu.”

“
¡Carajo!
Really?”

“Yes, really. All this talk of swine has whet my appetite.”

Manny takes her hand and gallantly kisses it. “You won’t regret it.”

Irina laughs. “I already do.” Slinging her arm over his shoulder, the most unlikely pair of the century take their leave.

A loud and mournful sound echoes from outside. It pauses, then resumes its low, primitive hum.

“Tristan’s battle horn.” Ryan gleefully rubs his palms together. “Means the game’s about to start.”

“Well, c’mon!” Ginger tugs Ryan’s hand. “Labyrinth Marco Polo is my
favorite.
”

“Oh, you just want to have your way with me in the foliage,” he teases.

She giggles before turning back to us. “You guys are coming, too, aren’t you?”

Seth waits for me to answer, nervously shuffling his feet. He wants us to be okay. So do I. The fact that he recognizes his earlier behavior was off-putting renews my faith in him, and by extension, in us.

“Absolutely,” I say to Ginger.

Seth beams at my response, clasping my hand and squeezing it. “Thanks for staying.”

I grin. “It’s a gorgeous night and this party is unbelievable—Irina’s right, we
should
be having fun.”

“Your good time will be my personal mission.” He kisses my temple. And you know? It doesn’t feel at all smothering. It’s…nice.

The battle horn hums a second mournful call.

Joining Ginger and Ryan, we head for a set of doors on the north end of the house, which is a shortcut to the gardens. Happiness unfurls inside me. This night is going to be salvaged after all. But as suddenly as my joy has blossomed, I feel it shrivel and blacken.

Because I see them.

Stabbing pains pierce my heart—it’s Grant and Lila.
Together.
Lila leads him by the hand into a dark room as we pass. Her silhouette begins kissing his neck as the door shuts. Seth is talking to Ryan, so he doesn’t see how my eyes instantly gloss with unshed tears.

I blink, willing the moisture away, and gaze at where my hand joins Seth’s.
This
is what I choose, a partner molded and blessed by the heavens.

I press a hand to my chest. Really, it’s a suitable punishment for my traitorous heart, this overpowering ache that ravages it, threatening to split it apart.

But maybe this is what I needed—to see Grant in the arms of someone else—so once and for all, I’d be free of him.

“M
arco!” Tristan booms in his stage voice.

“Polo!” Voices answer from all over the twisting gardens. The labyrinth’s high, sculpted hedges have nooks and crannies perfect for hiding.

As I move deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, my green dress helps me fade into my surroundings; even the pain in my chest has miraculously faded. Bare feet thump over grass, scampering in all directions.

Someone’s coming up fast behind me. I dive off the main path into one of the heavily shadowed nooks. The person passes. It wasn’t Tristan, who’s “it,” but I breathe a sigh of relief anyway as I step out from my hiding place.

The large moon, bold in the cloudless sky, illuminates the crystalline beads of dew forming on the grass. Like everyone else, I’ve kicked off my heels, adding them to the shoe pile at the garden’s entrance.

“Gotcha!” Tristan shouts, tackling someone one hedge over, grunting with the fall. “Ha, you’re it, Bree!” Tristan takes off from the newly tagged girl. The horn wails again, signaling the start of a new round. “Marco!” Bree shouts.

“Polo!” We call out in chorus. I tear around another bend, seeing flashes of people running every which way. The darkness charges the air with veiled expectancy.

“Marco!”

Oh God, she’s super close. I shout my “Polo” and dodge into another bushy alcove. I peer through a gap in the branches.

Bree slows. She wears a sleeping mask with realistic eyes painted on, so it appears she sees even in her blindness.
Creepy.

I hold my breath, afraid my racing heart will tip off my whereabouts. I’m crouched several feet away in a dead end of foliage.

A twig snaps. Bree’s eerie eyes move from my direction, and she fumbles her way ahead.

I exhale just as a familiar silhouette creeps by.
“Psst!”
I hiss.

Seth stops, glancing back. With a quiet giggle, I grab his arm, pulling him into my shadowed hideout.

We tumble to the ground. Before he can outmaneuver me, I seize the front of his shirt, pulling him downward until his lips crush mine.

He draws a sharp breath, mouth tensing. But…isn’t this what he’s been waiting for? Why does he seem frozen by my lips? Surely, he can’t still be worried about us? Tilting my head, I reposition my mouth over his, deepening the kiss. I’ll make damn certain my actions will dispel his doubt.

And they do.

Oh. My. God. Seth has been holding back. I gasp as the frenzy of his passion makes every single nerve ending scream for more. He shifts his weight so I’m not crushed into the damp grass. His hand slips under to cradle my head, pulling me closer. Winding my arms around his torso, I lose myself.

I feel tossed into the strongest current of the Opal River, held captive in a whirling eddy. I want to stay in this spinning place forever. No moment compares to the feel of his weight, his mouth, his skin….And if time were really measured in grains of sand, I would take this grain and flatten it. Stretch it as far as physics allowed, let myself bask in this feeling. Forever and ever and ever.

Kissing Seth has always been nice. But this,
this
speaks to the truth of what we are.
We are soul mates. We belong.

The game continues unfolding around us. Laughter rings out. “All right, you a-holes, who depantsed me?” a deep voice snaps. But the shouts and laughter sound light-years away, in another solar system, another dimension.

I hover outside myself, watching the barefoot girl sprawled on her back in the dewy grass, and the boy who kisses her like he’s fulfilling a dying wish. If the moonlight could reach them, it would draw sparkling lines over his broad shoulders and her pale skin, painting them with silvery magic.

Strange, for the first time I don’t notice Seth’s cologne—not that it’s ever been overwhelming, just something I’ve come to expect. Maybe it’s because I’m overwhelmed by the smell of the green around me—pungent, earthy, and sweet.

The rhythm of our breaths makes the goose bumps rise, causing my body to tremble. And it isn’t until his hand cups the side of my neck, and his thumb travels the distance from my chin to just beneath my ear, that I realize why everything is amplified. It’s nothing to do with the moon or grass or dark muted colors….

I’m not kissing Seth.

I am kissing Grant Walker.

I gasp, scrambling back on my elbows from under him. My heart hammers and I’m overcome with so much dizziness that the Earth feels wobbly on her axis.

Grant rocks back to his knees, breathless and stunned. “I—I…I wouldn’t have…but then you grabbed me. And…” He rubs a shaky hand over his face.

My lips are still throbbing with the memory of his. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep them from betraying me any more than they already have. More than they already do.

“Jesus,” he whispers. There’s a subtle collapse of his shoulders. “You thought I was Seth.”

I slowly nod, afraid to unclap my hand from my mouth, afraid of the words that might spill out:
I’m glad you weren’t.
The thought makes me ill and brings with it other thoughts I want to banish and leave hidden deep in this labyrinth.

Grant braces his hands on his thighs, surveying the matted grass around us. “No. No, I don’t believe you.”