Every Little Piece of Me (Orchid Valley 1)

Tonight was a drive-for-hours night, and we talked about everything and nothing. My parents believe I’m at Stella’s house, because she’s the best friend ever and insists on covering for me any time I need it. “Your house has become half prison and half shrine to a dying girl. Get the fuck out of there!”

I squeeze Marston’s hand when he takes the exit to Orchid Valley. “Why does it always go so fast?”

He flashes me a tentative smile. I know he wants more time together as much as I do, but the more I try to think of a way to tell my parents about this relationship, the more I know they’d freak out. Last week, I discovered they were reading my texts—something I’d suspected but hadn’t known for sure. It’s like the sicker Brittany gets, the more they need to control me. “We could go to the lake for a few minutes before I take you back to Stella’s.”

I lean across the console and kiss his shoulder. “Yes, please.”

And with the promise of just a few minutes more with him, my mood lifts, and I fill the rest of the drive with happy chatter.

Marston never complains when I ramble. He says he likes knowing what I’m thinking about and wants me to feel like I can tell him anything—from the most trivial thought to the most awful. While I haven’t been quite brave enough to share the ugliest and scariest thoughts that lurk in the darkness of my mind, I’ve never felt judged by a single thing I’ve shared with him. He might be the only person who doesn’t look at me and try to evaluate me. When he looks at me, he sees me as I am, and that’s who he wants. Me—not some prettied-up version.

It’s nearly dark when he pulls into the small parking area by the loading dock, and I know our time here will be brief.

There’s another car in the lot, but it probably belongs to someone who’s watching the sunset from their boat on the lake. We’ll have plenty of privacy by the time we slip into the woods.

We step out of the car and hold hands as we cut across the grass to the trail that runs along the water. We’ve walked it so many times that we could probably navigate it with our eyes closed.

“Stella’s going to be so jealous when I tell her you bought me ice cream,” I say.

He laughs. “I offered to bring her along.”

“She doesn’t want to intrude. She thinks—”

“Brinley? Is that you?”

A light bobs at the trailhead, and then Roman Humphries steps out of the trees and comes into view.

I don’t know the name of the girl on his arm, but I recognize her from school. She’s a freshman, and she clings to him, laughing at some shared joke before she says, “You said no one else comes out here.”

“They usually don’t,” Roman says, coming closer. He flashes the light in our faces, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the blinding glare. “No fucking way. Brinley, what are you doing out here with Death Rowe?”

Marston’s head snaps back at the verbal blow, but he steps forward. “What did you just call me?”

Roman chuckles, delighted with himself. “Your last name is Rowe, right? Death Rowe.”

My stomach cramps as I look back and forth between Roman and Marston. “Don’t call him that.”

Roman sneers in my direction. “It won’t make a difference. That’s what everybody calls this guy. Seems appropriate for a kid who’s on his way there.”

Marston is so still and so quiet beside me, but I feel the fury rolling off him. This is a disaster in the making. Fear that it could end with trouble for Marston sticks like a bramble of thorns in my throat. I take his arm and tug him back toward the car, but he doesn’t move. “Come on, Marston. Let’s get out of here.”

“What’s the rush?” Roman pulls something from his pocket. A cigarette? He puts it between his lips and lights it with the other hand, taking a puff before strolling toward us and offering it to Marston. When it passes in front of me, I smell skunk. Pot, not tobacco. “Want a hit, Death Rowe?”

Marston’s entirely still except for the tic in his jaw.

“Silly me. I forgot.” Roman takes another drag before leaning forward and blowing smoke into Marston’s face. How could I have ever liked someone like that? Why did I ever believe he was worth crying over? “You’re on probation. They catch you with this in your system, and it’ll be back to juvie for you.”

“Back off, Roman.” I tug on Marston’s arm again, but he’s immovable.

Roman blows in his face one more time and laughs. “Hope I didn’t disrupt your plans with this one,” he says, nodding to me. “I’ll go so you can enjoy her. I know I did. Just last weekend, actually.” He winks, then takes a single step around us before Marston’s fist connects with his face with a sickening thwack. Roman collapses to the ground, face in his hands. “Fuck.”