He and his friends laughed. “Can you do a trick? Like, demonstrate?”
“Pfft, I don’t dotricks. But wanna hear a joke?” I endeavored to keep from slurring, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “A police officer pulls Erwin Schrödinger over for speeding. The cop is suspicious, so he checks the trunk. He says to Schrödinger, ‘Hey! Do you know you have a dead cat in here?’ And Schrödinger says, ‘Well, I do now!’”
The group gave me pitying looks and snickers. “Uh, sure. Good one, man.”
I flapped a hand at them and wandered away. “Emery would’ve loved that joke,” I muttered petulantly, and then sadness whacked me right in the chest.
Where was Emery? At some stupid dinner with her horrible father, who was probably being just nice enough to make her believe he saw how fucking beautiful and perfect and talented she was. That was never going to happen. ButIsaw her, so it was up to me to help make her dreams come true. Me. The one who wanted to keep her forever was the one who had to get her to a galaxy far, far away.
“How’s that for a fucking paradox?” I said to no one.
I spotted Dean in the rec room, talking with Rhett, and was overcome with the need to pour my guts out to my best friend. Dean would understand. He would help me. Fuck, I loved that guy. One of the best people…
I staggered closer. They both looked around surreptitiously, then Rhett put something in Dean’s hand. Dean pocketed whatever it was, and they went their separate ways, both melting into the crowd.
“Hey!” I cried, but the floor was tilting out from under me. I sat down heavily into a chair—unoccupied, luckily—and held my face in my hands. The room was spinning, and I needed it to stop. Something wasn’t right.
“Nothingis right,” I corrected, and lay back in the chair because my head was too heavy to hold up anymore and if I didn’t close my eyes, I was going to puke. On Dean? No, I promised him I wouldn’t. Where was he, anyway…?
My thoughts broke apart and I fell into a strange, drunken blackness—not awake but not unconscious either. Music and voices created a wall of sound around me, and I tucked myself into the dark to wait until I could move again.
It felt like minutes but was more likely an hour later when a scream pierced the blackness. I bolted upright, the shock sobering me slightly, and shot to my feet. A crowd had formed in the corner of the rec room and a girl was screaming and screaming…
Dread sank sharp teeth into me as I shoved people aside, and then a strangled cry tore out of my throat. Sierra Hart was kneeling on the floor in a tight blue dress. Dean was lying on his back, his head in her lap, mouth ajar, eyes staring at nothing.
Terror whipped my sluggish, drunken muscles and I staggered to Dean and fell to my knees just as Orion burst through the crowd. He pushed Sierra aside and knelt to do chest compressions on my best friend. I watched, stupefied, as his mouth formed the words:Call an ambulance!But no sound came out.
Orion was shouting for help, and Sierra was still screaming, but I could hear nothing but my own blood rushing in my head and see nothing but Dean’s staring eyes. Finally, I broke free from the terror and grabbed his jaw.
“Dean, wake up.” I blew air into his mouth, dizzy with alcohol and abject dread. “Wake up, Dean, this isn’t fucking funny. Please…”
Orion’s eyes—stricken and tear-filled—met mine. He never stopped his compressions but shook his head, and a hollow cry ripped out of me.
“No!” I slapped Dean so he’d wake up and feel hurt that I’d hit him like that. But he didn’t react. Didn’t move at all.
Because he’s not here anymore…
I blew into his slack mouth. Orion pressed on his chest until finally EMTs arrived and took over. Then Harper was in my arms, clinging to me, sobbing into my shirt because nothing they did was working. Because it was too late.
Because Dean was dead.
Chapter 33
Emery
“Emery.”
“Hm?” I blinked out of my thoughts, where I’d been in California, taking classes at UCLA and then coming home to the little apartment I shared with Xander…
My mother touched my arm. “We’re being seated now.”
The hostess smiled at our party, a pile of menus in her arms. “If you’ll please follow me.”
“Senator,” my dad said, gesturing. “After you.”
Mom, Dad, and I followed Charles Harrington, his wife Shar, and their son Colton through the elegant restaurant that overlooked the bay.
My father leaned into me. “I would like you to make Colton feel welcome tonight.”
