“Holy shit, Easton,” Axton said.
“Yeah, and I was hoping you guys would have something a little more interesting to do.” He closed the door, dropped his bag on the only clean space in his place, and grabbed a black trash bag from the kitchen. He’d never used the kitchen, and there was mess everywhere. Beer bottles, wine bottles, ashtrays, and he didn’t even smoke.
He started to pick up all the glass bottles. There was no alcohol in them, but he didn’t need to worry about wanting them. Just one look at this place, and he wasn’t exactly happy with what he was seeing. This had been his life for so long. He couldn’t even remember when it had gone from a couple of beers to three or four. This was fucking crazy.
The party that caused this, he couldn’t even remember it. The night was like an old memory, refusing to come to the forefront of his mind.
Taylor grabbed a black bag and began to fill it with metal cans. Axton did the same, but he filled it with trash.
One by one, they walked their way through the apartment.
Easton opened every single cupboard, and without waiting for his friends’ instructions, any alcohol left in the bottles, he tipped out.
It wasn’t even a time for second-guessing.
He just opened that bottle, tipped out the contents, and threw the bottle into the black bag.
Time flew, and none of them spoke, which Easton was more than happy with. He didn’t need to talk right now.
When all the trash, bottles, and cans were gone, it was time for him to call housekeeping. He needed his space clean, and the only way to do that was to cleanse the entire area.
Taylor and Axton stayed still.
“Are you worried I’m going to fall off the wagon?” He couldn’t help but chuckle there. Fall off the wagon, it was so fucking stupid to even think of something like that. He’d never intended to be on the wagon in the first place, and yet here he was, totally on it.
“We’re your friends, Easton.” Taylor hugged him.
Her stomach pressed against his body, and he … he quickly pulled away. He couldn’t handle that kind of pain right now. The stark reminder of why he kept seeing Carla in the first place.
A very seventeen- to eighteen-year-old Carla.
It was that part in his life that was the worst.
The cleaning crew arrived, and rather than stand with his friends, he watched them work. He had a feeling he was going to be taking up another hobby, and it wouldn’t have anything to do with drink.
Chapter Four
Over eleven years ago
Easton stared into the campfire. The wood was burning so brightly, he saw all the ambers and golds. The reds of the fire were just exquisite. He loved watching things burn. The way the heat caught everything, and within a matter of seconds, turned it into smoldering ash.
Taylor’s scream from a few nights ago echoed in his mind.
The horrible memory of her pulling Carla out of the water. Taylor had looked half possessed. When he realized who it was, his friends held him back. They had to. His relationship with Carla had to be kept a secret. No one in the town could ever know that he fell for her, that he fucked her, that the baby she’d been carrying was his.
Their chance to start a completely new life together was all gone.
He’d not wanted to be a father. When Carla had told him, it had been on the tip of his tongue to demand she got rid of it, or to pay her off.
Him with a kid.
His father was no role model when it came to being a dad. Over the years he’d watched his father fuck any woman he wanted, abuse them for his own sick pleasure.
“You okay?”
He turned to see a blonde girl. She’d already been at the summer camp when he arrived. In the past twenty-four hours, he noticed people gravitated toward her, asking her for help and advice.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She had pretty green eyes. Her hair was so long and blonde. It fell to her waist, but it didn’t look lifeless. The strands looked so soft, as if they had a life of their own. She offered him another smile.
“I’m Scarlett, by the way.” She held her hand out.
She didn’t look shy or nervous as she waited for him.
He could push her aside, or take a chance.
“Easton.” He placed his hand within hers, and shook it.
“You have got one firm handshake there, buddy.” She pulled away.
“Look, Scar, look, I did it.” A young kid, not older than ten, ran over. He had some kind of bracelet around his wrist.
The camp was for all ages. He didn’t even know why he’d come here. In all the summers it had been offered to him, he’d always turned it down. Who wanted to go out into the wilderness, set up camp, sing a bunch of songs around a fire? It all sounded rather corny to him.