“I’m good. I’ll stay awhile, put the fire out.”
“Good idea,” Holden said with a strange smile.
After they left, I found out why. I went into the Shack to stow the uneaten food in the mini fridge and lock up. There was a large black shoebox tied with a dark purple ribbon sitting on the wooden table.
“Fucking hell, Parish.”
Inside the box was a pair of heavy-duty black leather work boots from a brand name that screamed money. A note was tucked inside one.
Happy Birthday, my friend. I was going to get you a set of nunchucks or maybe a flamethrower, but Miller said no. DO NOT try to give these back or I’ll never speak to you again.
Love,
Holden
My jaw tightened. My old boots were falling apart—no thanks to my nightly walks. I slipped on the new pair. They felt sturdy and high quality.
I took the shoebox and tossed it in the fire, destroying the evidence of Holden breaking our rule, though his note made it sound like Miller was in on it, too.
“Assholes,” I murmured. The four or five beers I’d drunk must’ve given me a good buzz, since I felt warm all over.
Almost content.
I kicked sand over the fire and took the route along the coast back to the old parking lot with the abandoned utility shed. Trying to sleep now would ruin the best birthday I’d ever had. I’d walk and let the night air sober me up.
I made my rounds in a little over an hour. The new boots were fucking good; I’d never owned anything so nice.
But it was still too early to try for sleep. I kept going until I reached the outskirts of downtown. The streets were empty, the shops dark, streetlamps casting cones of yellow light. I passed the doughnut shop where I’d kissed Shiloh. It seemed a lifetime ago, but the hunger that flared was immediate and sharp.
I passed the Burger Barn and was at the driveway that led to its rear parking lot when I heard a girl crying. Then a guy’s voice.
“Kimberly, wait. Come on…”
Mikey Grimaldi. I pressed myself into the shadows and peered around the corner. Kimberly was facing me, hugging her elbows in a short skirt and rumpled shirt. Her blond hair was messy, falling in her face.
What the fuck am I looking at?
But I knew. My fucking guts churned until I thought I’d puke up beer and birthday cake, because I knew.
“It’s cold out,” Grimaldi was saying, cajoling from behind, big and beefy in his letterman jacket. “Get back in the car.”
“Home,” Kimberly said. Her voice sounded small. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.” Mikey led her back to his white Jeep Rubicon, the only car in the lot. When she was safely in the passenger seat, he jogged around to the driver’s side, chuckling and shaking his head.
The Jeep’s engine roared to life, and headlights filled the driveway as he came tearing out of the parking lot, passing in front of me. I caught a glimpse of Kimberly’s face in the passenger window—her eyes staring at nothing. The Jeep made a right and peeled out in a screech of tires, leaving me alone on the quiet, dark street.
I’m too late, again. Too late.
I gave up the rest of my route and went back to my place. The nightmares were as bad as I expected.
I was almost glad.
It took a week for what I’d suspected to be confirmed. On Friday, at Central, senior girls were huddled together, whispering and talking. Mikey Grimaldi hurried past a group of cheerleaders, his shoulders hunched against their angry and tear-filled stares.
“What’s all this about?” Holden asked, leaning with me at our spot on the wall.
“Nothing good,” I said with that same stomach-churning feeling as the other night.