Three, everyone else has stopped dancing and drinking, and their attention is fixed on Edgar and Heathcliff.
“I knew you were trouble when you showed up,” Edgar snarls at Heathcliff, and god help me, a Taylor Swift song starts playing in my head. I climb to my feet, smothering a hysterical laugh.
“Eddie, calm down,” Isabella says, but Heathcliff cups her shoulders and moves her aside, not roughly but decisively. She’s smart enough to stay put.
“You’re not here for the right reasons, Cliff.” Edgar is white as death now, his hand shaking, the index finger poking Heathcliff in the chest. “You brought beer. You had the nerve to grope my sister. You encouraged everyone to—to act in ways they shouldn’t. You’re not welcome here anymore, and I suggest you leave.”
A slow, wicked grin widens on Heathcliff’s face. He speaks to me over Edgar’s head. “Cathy, do you want me to leave?”
“Why are you asking her?” Edgar chokes out, furious. “Don’t look at her. She’s not for you.”
“Cathy?” Heathcliff repeats.
I’m torn between the answer that will bring peace and the volatile truth. Of course I choose violence. “I want you to stay.”
“Cathy wants me here,Eddie,” Heathcliff says. “So I’ll be staying.”
Edgar throws me a look of betrayal and rage before spinning back around to face Heathcliff. “No. You’re leaving.”
“Make me.”
“Oh, I will.” Edgar clears his throat. “Wewill. Won’t we, guys?” He rakes the group with frantic eyes, searching out Lazar, Thomas, and the other guys.
Thomas nods and Lazar takes a half step forward, which pisses me off. They were all too happy to drink Heathcliff’s beer, and now they’re ready to kick him out just because Edgar says so?
Fuck that.
“No!” I dart forward, pushing Lazar back. “No. If Edgar wants Cliff to leave, he can make it happen himself. No one else interferes.”
Lazar opens his mouth, but I give him my most savage glare.
“No oneinterferes. Got it?”
“You can’t be serious, Cathy,” exclaims Edgar.
Isabella starts to cry—or more accurately, wail. She could rival a banshee, I swear.
“Shut up,” Heathcliff and I snap at her at the same time.
“Go on, Edgar.” I clench both fists, my heart racing, blood pounding. “You want him to leave…make him leave.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Edgar says breathlessly. “He’s like twice my size. If he were a decent man, he’d go of his own accord, but he’s clearly not decent. Isabella, you and I are going to have a serious talk later about the kinds of people who are appropriate for church gatherings. And you, Cathy…I don’t know what’s going on between you and this guy, but I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were better than this.”
Heathcliff chuckles. “He’s right, Cathy. Youarebetter thanthis. And you deserve better than a milk-blooded coward who can’t even—”
Edgar wheels around and smashes his right fist into Heathcliff’s face. Then he grunts with pain, shaking his fingers.
Heathcliff staggers back a step. Blood drips from one nostril, a glistening, ruby line over his full lips. He hauls back for a blow that will level Edgar and possibly break his jaw—or his neck. I can sense the power behind that punch, and my whole body vibrates with a sudden, horrible understanding—an overwhelming tidal wave of grief and the devastating urge to scream.
If Heathcliff lands that blow, he will kill Edgar Linton.
“Stop!” I shriek. But it’s not just a word, it’s a long scream, an air-raid siren of eardrum-shattering, wave-bending power. I feel the concussive force of it ripple through the air. I hear the sudden change in the wave patterns on the beach, the rolling splash as the force of my cry shoves back the tide itself for a second.
Heathcliff freezes. The others in the group cringe, covering their ears.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, choking on another scream. The moment of danger has passed—Edgar isn’t going to die now, so I don’t have to mourn him, but I’m still being wracked with convulsive waves of grief and confusion. I can’t stay here. I need to go.
The act follows the instinct, and I’m running, running out of the firelight, down the dark beach, under the inky sky and the glittering stars. The others call for me a couple times, but their voices fade quickly—I’m not really one of them, and they’re more concerned about Edgar and Isabella, more interested in gossiping about what just happened.
