Page 49 of Ward Willing
Fuck.
I am so, so, so fucked.
Because as far as we went in Catalina, I was so fucked up that it’s a blur. But tonight? I’llalwaysremember what her face looks like when she comes.
I sag against the wall as humiliation and shame course through me, causing my stomach to heave. My best friend trusted me, and I’ve now broken that vow of protectiontwice.
Nothing comes up, of course, but the self-loathing is so potent that I physically achewith guilt.
I’m so absorbed with my own feelings that I barely notice the two men walking through the alley until they’re standing right in front of me. As I lift my head, my eyes catch on the glint of metal.
A knife.
Anger courses through me unexpectedly, and my first thought is that this isexactlywhy I don’t like Zoe coming to these gigs alone.
My second thought is one of self-preservation: I hold my hands up.
“Give me your wallet and no one has to get hurt,” one of them says gruffly. They’re both wearing hats low on their heads, so I can’t see their faces.
“I’m getting my wallet right now,” I repeat slowly, my voice clear. I know enough about being in this situation that I try not to overreact, because unfortunately I’ve been mugged at a show before.
Just give them what they want and be done with it.
I hold my wallet out, and they snatch it out of my hand quickly. My anger blooms into pure fury when I imagine them hurting or mugging Zoe.
“Hey, guys? Fuck you,” I snarl.
One of them twists around and lunges for me.
I expect the sharp tip of a knife against my ribs, but instead, he rears his hand back and punches me so quickly, I don’t know what happened until he does it again, and I’m on the ground.
I look up at the moon, wondering if the stars are real or fake, before everything goes black.
CHAPTERSEVEN
THE BRINK
Zoe
It takes exactly six songs for my cheeks to stop burning, and four more songs after that for the shock to wear off. I face the stage and dance to the songs absentmindedly, and at one point, Scotty bends down to kiss me, but my mind is on the man whose thigh I just came on.
The man who disappeared the instant I tried to reciprocate and ran away looking like he would rather be anywhere else.
It had all happened so organically that my mind is still reeling with ways I could have or should have stopped myself.
If I had a time machine, I’d go back in time by two hours—or rather, to the night in Catalina when things happened between us the first time.
But especially the last two hours.
Because we’d fallen into a comfortable agreement to never talk about that night, it was rarely awkward with him now. However, what happened tonight would propel us back into themonthsof silent dinners and avoidance.
Am I supposed to deny what happened? I might’ve been able to once, but not again. The fire between us burns too strong now.
But on top of all of that is the underlying thing that’s bothering me the most: I wantmore.
As I fidget with the hem of his shirt and sway my body, I’m in such a daze that I’m shocked to see Scotty say goodbye to the audience, who erupt with shouts and screams as he sings his last song.
Where is Liam?
