Page 54 of Life of the Party

“I’m fine.” I lied. I didn’t want to acknowledge what happened, what had almost happened. I just wanted to put the whole unpleasant incident behind me. “Can we just forget about it, please?”

“Forget about it? Mac, he could have hurt you. He almost—”

“I know. I know. But he didn’t. I’m okay.”

“You’re better off than he is, anyway.” Zack chuckled darkly.

“Is he very hurt?” I wondered. I grimaced and looked up at Grey.

“He got what he deserved,” Grey admitted. He looked down at the backs of his hands, bruised from the fight—his knuckles were scraped and bleeding. He shrugged. “Don’t worry about that asshole.”

I wasn’t worried. But I was…regretful. I couldn’t believe what happened. The change that came over Brad was disturbing. The mad, eerie light in his eyes as he glowered over me, the aggression that drove his hands, his wet mouth hard upon my skin. I shuddered involuntarily.

Grey noticed. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and drew me near, pressing me close against his hard chest. I lay against him and fought off the threatening tears, tears of trauma, tears of relief.

Charlie started the car. We pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Grey’s hands rubbed my back soothingly; his fingers stroked through my hair. He didn’t let go of me once the entire trip.

CHAPTER 22

We were all a bit more subdued than normal. Zack and Charlie were at the counter island in the middle of her kitchen, playing a game of crib, dealing cards and snorting lines. I was laying on the faded old couch in the living room, oblivious to theSouth Parkepisode playing on the TV, waiting for the joint I’d just smoked to help alleviate the fearsome pounding in my head. Grey was sitting in the easy chair not far from me, silent and pensive, his face tight as he stared at the television set.

I blinked slowly, seeing nothing, thinking about boys. Why were they all so cruel, so callous and mean? First Riley had abandoned me, his best friend, with no good explanation except the sudden desire to completely change his life and leave all the old behind. So he’d left me behind, and that hurt me deeply.

Then Brad had tricked me, preying on my vulnerability and my desperation for a friend, leading me to believe he really liked me when all he wanted was to get some at the end of the night. He’d hurt me, he’d viciously attacked me, and though my bruises would heal on the outside, inside, I’d always carry the scar of his betrayal.

I shuddered, remembering Brad’s assault. My clothes still smelled like campfire. The smell reminded me sharply of the evening, of sitting by Brad and drinking and laughing and thinking how much I liked him, how much fun we were having together.

I shut my eyes drowsily, hoping for sleep, desperate to forget it all in the relative peace of my subconscious.

“Mackenzie, Mackenzie, wake up,” Grey shook me lightly on the shoulder, sending a throb of pain racing down my arm. I moaned and opened my eyes, looking directly into his face, rigid with concern as he crouched, hovering; his blue eyes avid with worry. “Try not to go to sleep, okay? For a little longer?”

Ah, yes. And then there was Grey, the cruellest of all. How easily he’d made me love him, with his wit and his charm and his good looks and his talent. He’d trailed me along, making me believe I had a chance, making me delight in the connection I thought I’d found, the hope that we could be something together.

Then he’d rejected me, brutally. Cruelly. Breaking my heart like I was nothing to him.

Now, the worry written on his handsome face was the most confusing of all. The meanest thing he could’ve done after everything we’d been through was care. And the regret in his eyes, the anxiety in his features told me he did, that he cared more for me than I ever could’ve imagined.

How badly I wanted to believe it, to believe him. How badly I wanted to hope. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let myself. I’d only be setting myself up for more hurt.

And my heart couldn’t handle much more.

“I want to go home,” I whispered to him.

Gently, Grey brushed the hair out of my face. “You do?”

I nodded as gingerly as I could to try and spare my aches and pains. “Yes.”

“I’ll get Charlie to give you a ride.”

“No.” I protested. “I want to walk.”

“I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I’m coming with you.” He insisted. The look he gave me was stern. I nodded, painfully sitting up, his hands warm and gentle as he helped me get to my feet.

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