They just watched me, framed in the doorway.
Bryce raised an eyebrow and asked, "Wanna go shoot pool?"
"Please," I groaned and followed them out.
When we arrived, I remarked sardonically, my gaze on the eight cars in Harris' driveway, "This is a party."
"Looks like."
Bryce chuckled.
"You said some of the guys were getting together to shoot pool. That's Lew's car. She's not one of the guys."
Corrigan shrugged. He grabbed the door handle and threw over his shoulder, "I didn't know. Don't crucify me."
When we walked in, everything stopped. Literally. One guy was even pouring a cup of beer and he stopped—mid-pour. The liquid didn't stop, but he did. He slammed the pitcher on the table and gaped at us. If it had been under different circumstances, it would've been hilarious.
Under our circumstances, I growled. "Looking at someone?"
Everyone scrambled and that was how the rest of the night proceeded. Corrigan and Bryce joked with some of the guys. M
ost of the girls left, but only after they were ignored by the guys. Collette Chantal tried to rub against Bryce, but he easily shrugged her off and then stayed beside me the rest of the night. It was only later, much later when they brought it up.
Corrigan had dropped down beside me on the couch. Bryce sat in front of me with my fingers entangled in his hair. And I was a bit drowsy from the booze.
Harris was the spokesperson when nearly everyone had mingled their way out the door.
"Did that chick look deformed or anything?" He belched the question as he finished his too-many beer.
Bryce tensed.
I tensed and lifted my head, now awake.
Everyone stopped again and looked at us. They wanted the answer. Even Corrigan watched us intently.
I yanked slightly on Bryce's hair and he remarked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Harris looked around. "What'd she look like? It could've been any of us that found her."
"She was dead," Bryce said flatly.
"Was she…we heard she was raped. Was she? Could you tell?"
"Go to a morgue. She looked like that," I said briskly.
"If she was raped, then we should know."
"Why?" I asked bitterly. "So that you can stop this supposed rapist from doing it again? It doesn't matter. She's dead." I sat up. "He's going to do it again. You can't stop him. No one can stop him."
Corrigan looked at me.
Bryce shifted to look at me. I didn't feel his silken hair between my fingers anymore.
I ignored them and continued on a rant, "If the police can't find him, you can't. You might as well go on about your life. Forget you ever knew anything. He's not going to be stopped. He's going to do it again and again and again…" My voice dropped with each word as I felt hope dwindle.
I didn't know the hope had even been there or what it was for.
Corrigan stood up and announced, "I'm drunk. Who's going to drive us home?"
Everyone was still staring at me.
Bryce stood and lifted me over his shoulder.
"Oomph!"
As he smacked my butt, everyone started to laugh…in comedic relief.
"Bryce," I gasped.
He grinned cockily and murmured loudly, "Keep saying it, baby. All night."
They laughed again and the pitcher of beer was passed around the room again.
Corrigan caught it and downed the rest. When he finished, he asked again, "Seriously. Who's driving us?"
Carlos stood up and said quietly, "I will. I'm sober."
Talking started up and Carlos walked ahead of us with Corrigan's arm thrown over his shoulders. He had given me one tentative grin before he grabbed his keys and headed outside.
I'd forgotten about him. In fact, I hadn't even known he was at Harris'.
Carlos had been the one to call Leisha in the first place—at my insistence.
I swallowed painfully as Bryce lowered me to the ground.
At the car, Bryce slid in the back. I was right behind Carlos and Corrigan had turned so he faced all of us at the same time. He threw his arm over the seat and started talking about how Becky Lew ranked among his conquests. He was fully divulging the evidentiary points of slot number four when Carlos pulled his car to the curb just outside Corrigan's house.
It was then that I realized, "Nice. I was going to stay sober so I could drive my car tomorrow. Now none of us have cars here."
Corrigan shrugged and murmured, "We'll figure it out. I'll make Stephen drive us over tomorrow."
"I have my bag in your car," I glared.
He smirked and pointed out, "Like you're going to be wearing clothes tonight anyway."
Carlos looked out the window, I scowled, and Bryce didn't blink.
Corrigan rolled his eyes and shot out of the car. "See you later, losers."
I stayed and Bryce looked between me to Carlos. He said, "I'm going in, make sure Corrigan doesn't decide to light his house on fire."
It wasn't even an excuse.
The car was silent between us when Bryce shut his door behind him.
Carlos and I weren't the quiet ones, it was the car, definitely the car.
He broke it when he said, hesitantly, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I frowned.
"For calling her. It wouldn't have happened if…" If he hadn't called her.
"That's not true," I said quietly. "It would've happened anyway, but to someone else. Or to her…later."
"How do you know that?"
Because he did it to get at me. I couldn't tell Carlos that.
I shrugged. "Trust me. These types…they always find someone else."
Carlos didn't say anything as the motor hummed.
He was a good kid. I could see that. I leaned forward and said softly, "She really liked you. I could tell."
Carlos didn't say anything.
"It wasn't your fault. He did it. Not you. He did." Just like he was doing everything else. I told myself that when I walked to the house. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault.
Corrigan had waited for me when I walked into the house. He let go the curtain and jumped off the couch. When I locked the door, he said quietly, "Just making sure, you know."
I shrugged, but the nonchalance wouldn't set with me. It meant more than I could ever fathom for that little action.