Page 44 of Searching for Hope

Jericho’s eyes narrow. His top lip twitches. “We’ll see,” he grunts and then he storms away.

chapter fifteen

BERKLEY

Gideon is nowhere to be found when it’s time to leave for the party. Barrett stands at the door waiting for me instead.

I sigh. “Where’s Gideon?”

“He’s busy,” Barrett says.

I lift my eyebrows, but Barrett merely mimics the motion and opens the car door, waiting for me to get in. “Mr Priest asked for you to wear this.” A choker dangles from his finger, similar to the one I wore before. “It’s got a tracking device in it.”

I snatch it from him and place it around my neck. As much as it annoys me that he wants me to wear it, I’ve got an element of apprehension about being around Michael alone. Especially after the last time. Especially considering my track record of being completely unable to read men. Michael has this certain expectation of the people around him, as though they are required to grovel just to be in his presence. I guess he is more like my father than I realized.

I put the choker on without complaint.

Barrett insists on walking me inside. I’m wearing a black bikini with a bright orange translucent dress that flows like a train behind me.

“Everly fucking Atterton!” Michael yells as soon as he sees me. He’s in the kitchen surrounded by staff who hover around him frantically. He seems unaware that his presence is making things worse.

Grabbing two glasses off the bench, he fills them with champagne and pops in a strawberry before walking over and handing one to me. He’s shirtless, only wearing pink floral board shorts. His skin is tanned and glowing, almost as though he’d lathered himself in oil. His hair is the same, slicked back as though he’s just heaved himself out of the pool. But he’s dry.

With his arms wide while holding the champagne flutes in his hands, he sort of air hugs me and I laugh awkwardly unsure of the protocol I’m supposed to be following. I’m not sure if this is the sort of party business contacts will be at, or if it’s more reminiscent of the ones he used to throw at high school. Drunken, drugged-out revelry in its highest form. Secretly I’m hoping for the latter. There’s an uneasiness in my chest I want to forget. Even if it’s only for a few hours.

“I hope you’re up for a big night,” he yells in my ear, oblivious to his volume. Obviously, his has already begun.

I turn and wave goodbye to Barrett. He doesn’t look happy about leaving but he does. I know he’ll be keeping an eye on things though. I follow Michael through the house and outside to the pool. Music pumps. Lights flash. There’s skin everywhere. Some people are in the water, dotted in and amongst the pink and white flamingo pool floats. Others are sitting on the side, only their legs dangling in the water. There’s a tiki-styled bar with fake tropical foliage accented by neon lights. Brightly colored lanterns hang from lines of string. And everyone looks perfect, as though they were cut out of the pages of a magazine.

A hand reaches out and grabs Michael as we pass. He’s dragged to a seat at a table and screamed and hollered at until he snorts a line of something up his nose. I have no idea what it is. It’s white. It’s powder. It can’t be anything good. He bounces to his feet afterward and lets out a whoop.

“Want some?” His eyes are wide, his pupils large.

“I’m good thanks.” I hold up my glass of champagne as though it can explain why I wouldn’t want to partake in whatever it was he just released into his body.

“Well, drink then!” He throws back his drink as though it is nothing more than water. I laugh, holding up my own glass before tossing it down my throat.

“Yes!” he shouts. “Bartender?” He holds his empty glass into the air. “Another!” He grabs my hand and drags me toward the bar. “What do you want?”

I try to read the list of cocktails on the blackboard behind the barman, but Michael is too impatient. “Two mojitos and two shots of tequila.” He holds up his fingers just in case the barman can’t count.

“I’m not having a shot!” I have to yell to be heard over the music.

Michael leans close as he yells back. “You’ve changed.”

“How?”

“You used to be up for anything and now you’re saying no to a single shot. I’m disappointed, Ev.” He shakes his head and pouts dramatically just as the barman hands the two shots over. Michael holds one out to me. “Come on, for old time’s sake.”

After shooting him a teasing glare, I take the shot and drink it, shuddering when the heat of it floods my throat.

“That’s my girl!” He plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek before turning back to the bartender. “Four more.” Again, he holds up the required number of fingers.

“I’m not—”

“Do you remember that first time you ever got drunk? We bought you a bottle of wine and you downed the whole thing in like fifteen minutes, you were so terrified we were going to get caught. I distinctly remember holding your hair back while you vomited in between telling me you needed cheesecake.”

I laugh. “And you never got it for me, you bastard.”

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