Punk 57

“I guess I was afraid to stand on my own,” he explains. “Until I saw you doing it five seconds ago.”

“You’re not Punk,” Ten gauges as more of a question than a statement.

J.D. just shakes his head. “Uh, no. It was just that one time.”

I momentarily wonder if I should tell them who Punk is, but no. Wrong time, wrong place, and I’m not sure Punk is done yet. I don’t want to come out of the closet until I’m ready.

I finish cleaning off and open my bag of chips, grateful that everyone in the room has seemed to resume their conversations. Thanks, no doubt, to J.D. and Ten’s arrival.

I guess what I always thought is actually true. There is safety in numbers.

“So I got a limo for prom,” J.D. tells me, looking around at everyone. “Group date?”

Ten nods, but Manny and I are silent. I trust Ten, but I’m not entirely sure about J.D. yet. Everything I’ve noticed from him the past couple of weeks tells me he’s on the up and up, but now I’m paranoid. I don’t want to get suckered into going to prom and whoops…now I’m soaked in animal blood like in Carrie.

“This isn’t a joke, is it?” I ask him. “You’re cool?”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “If Masen’s not there, they’ll have to go through me to get to you.” And then he glances at Manny. “You, too. And believe me. No one likes to go through me.”

I can’t help but smile. He’s a hundred-eighty pounds of future USC football player, and while he’s always been pretty harmless, people know they shouldn’t mess with him.

“Sounds good then. I’d love to.” I turn to Manny. “You?”

“You got a dress?” Ten pipes up, asking him.

Manny frowns, shooting him a dirty look. “Do you?”

Ten smiles, and Manny seems to relax a little.

He doesn’t answer, but I’ll call him later. He doesn’t trust us, and I don’t want to push him right now.

Everyone gets busy eating. J.D. steals food off everyone’s trays, and I take out my phone and go to text Misha. I hope he doesn’t mind getting asked to prom.

But then I think better of it and go to Google to find his Facebook. I’ve read so much about his life, and now I’d like to see it, I think. I’m guessing the last thing he wants to talk about is prom, but I’d like to put it out there sooner rather than later for him to think about at least.

But as I type in Misha Lare Grayson into the search engine and scroll to find what I need, I’m suddenly lost in more information than I can handle.

My stomach sinks, and my heart races.

Oh, my God.

The Cove looms ahead, massive and imposing under the gray clouds. I park next to Misha’s truck and climb out of my Jeep, making my way to the entrance.

Now I know why he stopped writing three months ago.

I should never have let it go as long as I did. It was completely selfish to sit there and wait for him to come around and write me back—assuming his issue was small and insignificant—and that protecting the status quo of our relationship was more important.

Of course he wouldn’t have stopped writing for anything trivial. He’d been committed to me for seven years. Why did I think he’d be so cavalier about dropping me all of a sudden?

And now I know why he’s been hiding out here, away from his dad, too. It all makes sense.

Almost.

Walking into the park, I feel the cool breeze from the downpour yesterday brush my arms. The air is thick and weighted, and the clouds overhead threaten more of the same. I hug myself against the slight chill.

Looking around, I walk past the rides and old gaming booths, spotting the field house ahead. I enter and make my way down the dark stairwell, instantly seeing a light down the corridor.

This place freaks me out. I’d heard some people from Thunder Bay were buying the property and had plans to tear down the old theme park and turn it into a hotel with a golf course and a marina and all that, but it might’ve been just a rumor.