I talked to Jet, and he said your family was fine. He wouldn’t tell me anything else. I won’t lie. It hurt to hear that. I’m glad everything is OK with your family, but why do I get the feeling not everything is OK with us? Anyway, I thought we were a pretty good fit. You know, like PB & J.
PB and J. I’m not sure what part of that text guts me the most. Hell, maybe all of it.
My phone buzzes in my hand. A text from Jet.At the Black Bear if you need to talk.
Talk. I shake my head at his message. I want to kick, scream, punch, hit, and throw shit. Talking isn’t even on the shortlist.
A brisk knock erupts over the door.
“I don’t want any,” I shout, still weighing my options—looking for a sign to tell me whether or not I should go.
Lawson pokes his head in. “Dude, I’m headed to the Black Bear. I’ll buy you a beer. Let’s do it.”
If I needed a sign, that was it.
Lawson and I make tracks through the frosty night air, our breath crystalizing before us in long white plumes.
The Black Bear is pumping with music that’s a touch too loud and flooded with girls that are a touch too underdressed, but it’s warm inside and the food smells pretty damn good. As much as I hate this place, and I genuinely do, I think if Ava wasn’t who she turned out to be, I could have overcome the obstacles that held me at bay to begin with. But, as it stands, this is the exact place where Jet dropped the bomb on me, and sure enough, I spot him standing at ground zero right where I left him.
I smack Lawson over the arm. “I’ll see you later, dude.” Lawson has spent the entire semester sleeping with everything in a skirt, so I’m sure he’s not too torn up over the fact I won’t be holding his hand tonight. Instead, I make my way over to that tatted up muscle man at the end of the bar and withhold the urge to go off in a violent rage.
“What’s up?” He slaps me five and pulls me in for a quick pat to the back. His eyes narrow in on mine as if we’re about to cut through miles of bullshit. “Look, Ava spent Thanksgiving with my sister, Lucky, and me.”
“Lucky’s your sister?” There you go. If Hollow Brook has ever been good for anything, it’s commingling all of its inhabitants.
“Yes.” He gives a weighted nod as if it were common knowledge. “And Ava is her best friend. That girl has been in tears for the last three days. Dude”—he exhales hard, squeezing his eyes shut tight—“you need to call her.”
“No.”
The bartender comes over and asks if I want anything, but I shake my head.
“Scratch that,” Jet says mechanically while looking over my shoulder. “You don’t need to call her. She just walked in.”
I glance back to find Ava, swollen eyes, red patchy complexion with a brunette and Owen by her side.
Ava stops short and says something to the two of them while shaking her head. Owen follows her gaze my way, and his eyes blaze up like a grease fire. The brunette tries to usher Ava into the restroom, but Owen strides over—his demonic gaze never leaving mine.
Here we go.
“Looks like he’s in an ass kicking mood,” I say, amused. “Good. So am I.”
“What the hell is going on?” Owen looks from me to Jet as if we owed him every last answer.
A dull smile comes to my lips as Ava and the brunette edge in this direction.
“Iaskedwhat the hell is going on?” Owen barks to Jet before looking at me. “Are you the fucker who broke my sister’s heart?” His eyes widen, tall and round as silver dollars. “Shit.” The word gets swallowed up in a hiss as if it knocked the wind out of him. “She’s only seventeen. Swear to God, if you touched her—”
Without putting a single thought behind it, I snatch Owen up by the shirt and crash his back against the bar. “Shit is right. Did you know about this? Because maybe you’re just playing the dumb fuck that you are. Is that what you wanted? For me to touch her? So you can send me to prison like I did your sister?”
Jet yanks me off, restraining my arms from behind, and I land face-to-face with Ava.
“What did you say?” Her voice crackles as if she’s about to cry. “Owen, what is he talking about? Did you d-d-do something to break us up?”
My heart breaks just hearing her stutter.
“Ava.” Owen pulls her to his side and buries his mouth over the top of her head for a moment. “Go ahead.” He nods to me. “Tell her who you are.”
“Tell her who I am?” I look to Ava and meet up with her glassy eyes. “Don’t you know who I am? My name is Grant Jones, Ava. Your sister slaughtered mine.” I don’t break my hostile stare, don’t want to. For whatever reason, it feels as if I’m defending myself—defending Stephanie in the process. Not sure why. We didn’t do a damn thing wrong, with the exception of getting in their way. “So whether you connected the dots or not, whether or not your brother tried to have me tossed in prison for God knows what—we’re done.” Those last two words come out softer, less caustic than those that preceded them, but I meant them just as much.
