Page 125 of Faking Forever 1
“There’s no need to thank me for anything.” My dad waves his hand, shutting Josh down. “It would be best if you were grateful I’m letting you evenlookat my daughter. Anything other thanthat, and it’s your ass. Do you hear me, kid?”
Josh’s head creeps back in a turtle-like motion, watching his hand wave, then looks at him, slowly nodding.
“Yes, sir. Got it.”
My dad stares at him for about five seconds and then shakes his head in disgust. He looks at me next but with a blank glare, eyes empty. After eyeing us both, he leaves the room, going down the hall until his footsteps fade against the wood into another room.
My dad was always hard to read. Never smiling and always yelling. Sometimes, I wonder if he loves my mom. He hardly says it; the same goes for Tate and I. She shows affection, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t run away, either. He does things thatshowshe cares. I would rather hear him use his words, and well—maybe that was him doing it, which is a start. It’s still not good enough to make me wear that giant ring around him. That can be my little secret to keep and take to London.
I deserve it.
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* * *
It’s funny that I thought my days with Nick and Darcy were over for good until I returned to Jersey someday. The bonfire was riddled with way more guests than I was expecting by the time we got here—which is maybe why Josh wasn’t in any rush to get here. After the hurricane, some negative aura was banished, and things had a new, fresh feeling; as if nothing could get in the way of the good. For many people, starting their businesses over or having to repair everything feels like a personal punishment. But if you think about it, it’s like being forced to start over. Starting over can be so good. I wish I could start this entire summer over with the intention of doing everything I did but on purpose.
I didn’t need beer or music to enjoy myself because, for once, I felt authentically happy. Of course, if one half is up, the other is down—and Josh was sitting below the ocean floor this time.
Sierra was right beside him and Beau was to blame. He was steadily backing down one beer after the other and cursing out anyone with something to say that went against it, making a fool of himself. It washisparty and he was doing whathewanted. The first time you help an addict, their will is easily accessible. Usually, the person wants help and will take it from any angle. Every time that comes after that is unpredictable.
Josh couldn’t fathom drinking alcohol with Beau being a raging firecracker, so he had water and I had the same, which he was currently getting more of. Sierra stayed by my side, blocking her view of Beau with her phone or closing her eyes to tan in silence, stopping to peek and look for him every few minutes.
“Y’know.” I look at Sierra, who’s lying on her back with her 303
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eyes shut. “I’m going to be one of the only girls with a tan.
How odd,” I say, looking down at my bronzed belly.
“At least you look hot. Guys like tans—and if you’re lucky, you’ll have color for over half the school year.” She giggles, shielding her eyes with her hand.
“They can look, but that’sallthey get. I love being a girl,” I brag, bouncing my shoulders up to my ears.
Sierra giggles at me in amusement, then pauses in mid-laughter.
“Oh, c’mon. I finally got you to laugh and you stop.” I smile, looking at her. Her smile had disappeared completely.
“Shut up and look in front of you.” She points straight ahead at Beau and Josh, standing where the drinks are.
I can feel my forehead almost crinkle when I raise my brows at her reaction before looking in the direction her finger is pointed. Beau and Josh were centimeters away with Beau not letting go of his drink for anything. His grip was tight around the neck of the bottle. Their mouths moved like a scary, silent, black-and-white film while the party music raged above them.
Context wasn’t needed regardless because it was plastered on each of their faces how pissed off they were.
“Let’s go.” Sierra springs from the sand, running to them.
Lagging, I run after her.
The closer we got, the more it sounded like heavy accents and gargling marbles. They were breathing down each other’s throats with tension, and once we were right on them, I could see that only Josh was taking the matter seriously. Beau had a smuglittle smirk that only the close eye could define and his aura oozed messiness.
“No more. You’ve had enough, Beau,” Josh articulates, hissing at Beau between his teeth.
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