Page 21 of Roses in Summer

“Yes, we are. What are you going to do, run away scared? When has that helped anyone? No. We’re going back to that party, and I’m going to make sure that Mitch knows exactly what he’s going to do with his little blackmail threat. And Seraphina, I need you to do me a favor.” She pulls out her phone, fingers working quickly over the screen.

“Bianca,” I groan out. “What is happening in that head? And we are not going back.”

“Too late.” She holds up her phone, shaking it in my face. “Rafe is meeting us there now. He’ll be there in ten minutes; let’s go.” Bianca spins on her heel and retraces our footsteps, her strides long as she eats up the distance between the road we’re on and the house we arrived at.

“Dammit, Bianca,” I mutter, breaking into a light jog to catch up to her before slowing down. “I want to go home, not suffer Mitch’s presence longer than I have to. For once, B, can you have some sympathy? Because I’m hanging on by a goddamn thread, and I don’t know how much longer until it snaps.” My words are loud—louder than I intended—and the ocean breeze carries them.

“Seraphina, just trust me. You trusted that Mitch, a fucking moron, was telling the truth. So trust me, your favorite sister, to handle this.”

“You are not my favorite sister. I don’t have a favorite sister. And would you stop?”

Like my words are attached to a tether, she brakes suddenly, causing me to step in front of her. “Seraphina, I can’t imagine what the last six months have been like for you, but I need you to listen to me closely.” She pauses, searching my eyes. Whatever she finds in them must encourage her to continue. “We’re going back to that party, and we’re going to have a conversation with the anal invader and—”

“Bianca,” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “I understand that you think you know the answer, that you can come in and figure out a way to end this. But I need you to accept that there’s no loophole; there’s no ‘get out of jail free’ card in this situation. It’s shitty, and it sucks, but at least I’m comforted by the fact it’s temporary.”

“But that’s the thing, Ser. You gave in to him once, twice, three times now. He knows your weaknesses, and he’s never going to let you go.”

“Then let me deal with it. It’s not your problem.”

“No.” B rushes forward, eating up the last few feet between the road and the gate leading to the backyard. The music is loud, a steady beat that bleeds into the rocky front lawn and down the block, though I doubt any neighbors can hear the noise. And if they do, I doubt they care. This section of the island is notorious for parties and bonfires and serves as a perfect escape for underaged drinkers and recreational partiers.

Shaking my head, I follow Bianca into the backyard and squint at her when she props her phone against the back of a chair, angled toward the group assembled around a bar in the far corner of the yard.

“B—” I start, but she holds up a hand, silencing me without saying a word. My stomach sinks, knowing instinctively that Bianca has a horrible idea brewing, one that is undoubtedly reckless and stupid.

As if on cue, Mitch looks up, eyes narrowing at me, and stalks over, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated. I look down at my phone and note that we’ve only been removed from his presence for twenty minutes, so I have no idea how much he could have consumed to make him look as drunk—and angry—as he does.

“Where the fuck did you disappear to?” he bellows, shouting across the small lawn. “Always fucking disappearing.”

“I needed to speak to Bianca.” I keep my voice calm, steady against the rolling anxiety in my stomach. “Rafe is on his way; we’re heading home.”

“Like fuck you are. Chris, you hear this shit?” Mitch calls out, bringing in a vodka-bottle-holding Chris, whose parents own the house. “Fucking Fin is trying to leave before the party even starts.”

“Nah, she’s staying. Little Gregs is also staying.” Chris jerks his chin toward Bianca, calling her the nickname she’s known by amongst the halls of our high school. I hear Bianca’s scoff from feet away, and I don’t doubt they also heard her sound of derision.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Chris sneers, bringing the vodka to his lips and taking a long sip. “Mitch, why don’t you take Fin inside, and I’ll take care of Little Gregs’s attitude? Maybe that mouth will be good for something.” They both laugh at his vile comment, and my blood heats, the dread transforming into rage.

“Don’t you dare touch her.” I’m surprised at how steady I sound. “We’re leaving. Bianca, come on.” I hold my hand out, motioning for her to come to my side so we can get the hell out of here.

“No, you’re fucking not.” Mitch reaches out and throws my arm, causing me to stumble back from the force. I catch myself before I fall completely, but my knees buckle, and my hand supports my weight against the jagged rocks.

“Hey! Don’t you fucking touch her.” My brother’s voice rings out, the headlights from his car illuminating the backyard since he pulled up the driveway. “Seraphina, Bianca, get in the car,” he orders, but I stand slowly, breathing deeply as I plant my feet and face Mitch.

“I told you that you’re not fucking leaving, Seraphina. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mommy and Daddy, right?”

“Stop it, Mitch. I never agreed to come here. That wasn’t—what the—Bianca!” I scream, stepping forward as my sister barrels into Mitch, shoving him out of the way.

“You are scum. The lowest of the bottom feeders. Leave my family alone.” She advances on him, shoving him again. “Stay away from my sister.”

“Bianca!” Rafe yells, and I hear the crunch of gravel as he races forward, arms reaching out to pull a flailing Bianca against his body. “Calm down and get in the fucking car,” he warns, holding her tight to his body as she struggles against his hold.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mitch advance and turn in time to see his arm pull back. Everything happens all at once. With a protective instinct innate to my being, I step in front of my sister just as Mitch swings, accepting the blow to the cheek that was apparently meant for my sister.

I taste blood immediately, the metallic liquid pooling in my mouth and forcing me to spit onto the rocks. Fuck, that hurts. I flex the muscles in my face and wince, nearly crying out with pain but determined not to show any weakness when all I want to do is cry and spit the blood out of my mouth until the saliva runs clear.

I told Bianca that coming back here was a bad idea. I chance a look over to my siblings—Bianca’s face is horrified, while Rafe looks like he’s about to kill someone. Assumably Mitch.

“Seraphina,” Rafe yells and Bianca whimpers. Rafe lets go of Bianca, and his arms pull me back before they move to my face and clasp my jaw, tilting it up to inspect the damage. My brother’s face is a study of anger, and I know that as soon as he assures himself that I’m okay, he’s going to storm up to Mitch and kill him.

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