The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (34 page)

Cold air rushes in to all the places his body previous was, and I feel the loss with a shiver. I wrap my own arms around me and survey the table loaded with drinks, jerking to the side as an errant ping pong ball comes flying my way. A guy comes chasing after it, laughing hysterically and clearly already plastered. He shouts his apologies, grabs the ball, and disappears into another room where there must be a game of beer pong going on. Or maybe several, judging from the noise.

I’m so distracted by the quickness of the whole scene that Zeke has to lean down and shout again in my ear, asking me what I want to drink, and I finally return my focus to the kitchen. I take in the liters of soda and juice, scattered among bottles of alcohol, the keg and the bottles of beer, and try to keep my lip from turning up in disgust. It’s all very… dirty in here. And also… disgust at myself. I swore once I’d never drink again. Not after what it made me do, the stupid decision it led to with Tony.

Zeke is laughing at the expression on my face, and leans down so he doesn’t have to shout so loud. “Don’t be such a snob!” he says. “Six guys live here, what were you expecting?”

I can’t help but laugh, and the general grunginess of the kitchen and the unknown debris that keeps crunching underneath my shoes—probably cereal, or so I hope—suddenly makes a lot more sense. “It’s not just that,” I reply. “I sort of… swore never to drink again. After something that happened with Tony.”

Zeke considers me for a long moment, ignoring other people as they come and go from the room. “Swore not to because Tony didn’t want you drinking, or of your own decision?” he presses.

I shake my head. “My own decision. I… was drinking one night with my old friends, and
made
a bad decision. I didn’t want to lose my judgment skills like that again, so I said I wasn’t going to drink anymore.”

“We all make bad decisions when we’re drunk,” Zeke says, and he’s actually laughing, though the situation isn’t funny to me. He seems to catch on that I’m serious, and the laughter dies away from his eyes. “Look,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders, “we’re underage, we shouldn’t be drinking anyway, blah, blah, blah, I get it. But if the decision had to do with Tony, and I’m suspecting that it does because it always leads back to that, you have to remember that he doesn’t matter anymore. He’s not going to catch you, weak-willed and drunk, and be able to take advantage. Mentally or… physically.”

I stare up at him, wanting to believe what he’s saying, but not really able to.

Zeke gives an exasperated little sigh, and turns to scan the table, finally pressing a bottle of Angry Orchard cider into my hand. “This is the situation as I see it,” he says, sounding so bossy it almost puts my teeth on edge. “Clarissa fucking locked you out of the house today, and she’s freaking psycho. I think you should try and relax a little bit. Okay? And since the three of us had a friend who died while driving intoxicated, Koby, Dominic, and I take the whole designated driver thing seriously. And since they’ve already disappeared and I wouldn’t trust them with your car anyway, that leaves it to me. So you’ve got me to be at your side and keep you from doing anything stupid.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest. “
I’ll
be the DD. It’s my car and it’s your party. That makes way more sense.”

“No.” Zeke shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not comfortable getting shit-faced and leaving you on your own, especially trying to get three teenaged guys home. Two drink max for me, and you can just let yourself fly free a little bit tonight. Come on, Evangeline,” his voice is mocking, but his eyes are kind, “let down your hair, and all that.”

“My hair is down,” I say frostily.

“I’ve noticed.” His voice is extremely soft, so quiet I almost don’t hear it, and he picks up one of my big curls and rubs the hair between his fingers. I think back to that first time he ever really touched my hair, helping me with my coat at the club before Tony almost killed me. Just like then, I wish my hair had feelings, could tell me what such an intimate touch from Zeke feels like.

I look at the bottle in my hand. “I’ve never even tried this. I’ve never been much of a beer person.”

“Rich snob,” Zeke snorts, and I give him a glare. “And it’s not beer. It’s cider. It’s pretty sweet, you’ll like it. Come on, Evie. Party a little. Live on the other side!”

I look up at him again, swaying. I know he can see that I’m wavering, because a smile comes over his face, and in the most adorable gesture for a tough, hard-ass guy to make, Zeke holds up a fist with his pinky finger sticking out.

“I’ll keep you from making bad decisions. I swear.”

I consider his hand for a moment, but how can I say no that? I finally throw my misgivings to the wind, and lock my pinky with his. “Deal.”

Ezekiel

74

Four hours later, I’ve gotten Evangeline Parker drunk and I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell for it. It was an accidentally-on-purpose kind of thing. I might want to drink and sink away into the world of not caring, but she probably needed it more and I was prepared to make a sacrifice for the good of mankind. I still can’t believe that Clarissa locked her out of the house, and it’s only just sort of occurred to me that since I’ve gotten her drunk, she’ll have to come home with me and stay at my house. I’m not sure how I’ll get her in and out without my dad being aware, but I definitely need to exercise the utmost caution.

I stand protectively next to Evie as she chatters on and on with some girl that complimented her shoes, and they have been taking about the mall and clothes for almost half an hour now. Evie keeps touching her hair, pushing it out of her face, pushing it back over a shoulder, running her fingers through it as she pulls it back over her shoulder. It’s like she’s taunting me on purpose, and I have to shove my hands in my pockets to keep myself from running my own fingers through it.

Even drunk, she smells good, and I have to admit she handles being drunk like a champ. Her eyes are a little hooded and most of her lipstick has worn off, but she has pretty good balance, especially considering those heels she’s wearing and it’s turned her into a friendly chatterbox. Of course, she probably won’t remember most of these conversations, but what the hell. I decide it’s all still good for her, and I’ve kept close enough to know they’ve all been innocuous enough.

Finally, the girl Evie is talking to claims she needs another drink and Evie turns to me, a bright smile on her face. “She was nice!” she exclaims, a little too loudly, though no one can tell over the music.

“Amazing there are nice people left in the world, isn’t it?” I ask dryly, because I can’t help but smile at her as she nods emphatically.

“Zeke,” she says, and then just stops.

I raise an eyebrow. “Zeke?” I prompt.

“Zeke,” she says again, this time in a stage whisper. She takes a step closer and grabs my arm, and for one second I’m scared to death because holy shit, if Evie Parker is making a move on me when she’s drunk—but no. She just pulls on my arm so I bend my ear down to her level and she continues in her too-loud whisper, “Zeke, I have to pee!”

Typical. I heave a small sigh and take her arm and spin her around, though slowly so she doesn’t trip. “Right, this way,” I say, and guide her through the maze of a house, coming to an abrupt halt when I see the long line for the downstairs bathroom.

“Zeke,” Evie hisses. “I have to
go
.”

“Okay, okay, come on, let’s try upstairs,” I say, and keep a strong grip on her arm, practically lifting her up each step.

I leave her standing at the top of the stairs as I peek into several doors, finding one couple on a bed, though the rest of the rooms I look in are empty. I find the bathroom on the fourth try and gesture for Evie to come forward. I flip on the light and check it out. A little dirty, toothpaste in the sink and someone’s boxers on the floor, but there’s toilet paper on the roll and the seat is down, so it will have to do.

Evie rushes past me and the door slams, and I lounge against the wall, thinking that it’s probably time to find Koby and Dominic and head home. I check my phone and see that it’s almost two in the morning. Luckily, I don’t have to work tomorrow, but it’s probably best to leave now, before things get out of hand or the cops show up. I hear a toilet flush and the sink come on, and for just a moment, I stiffen in worry, but after just thirty seconds or so, the water turns off and a moment later Evie is spilling from the bathroom, giggling.

A giggler. She started laughing after her first drink, and hasn’t really stopped. I try and shove it off, even though it’s not my favorite kind of drunk girl. Still, it’s much better than a crier. I give a shudder thinking of that one. Tessa cried once when she was drunk, and I split so fast that I think she got the hint because she never did it again.

“Come on,” I say to Evie, taking a gentle hold on her arm and guiding her back down the stairs, going first in case she trips. “I think it’s time to head home.”

“But I can’t get in my house!” Evie says matter of factly, her shoes clacking against the wooden stairs as she moves carefully after me.

“I know. You’ll have to come with me. You can sleep in Cindy’s room.” I get a weird quiver in my stomach as I say the words, even though I know it’s the only option. Evie, in my sister’s bed. Is this another instance of picking Evie over my sister? But no. It’s simply the fact that Cindy is gone, and Evie has to sleep
somewhere.
She sure as hell can’t sleep in
my
bed. But even as I rationalize this to myself, guilt rests heavy on my shoulders and I viciously shove it away.

I take another step forward and my arm is yanked sharply backward, and I look behind me and see Evie has stopped on the steps with a stricken look on her face. “What?” I ask, surprised.

“In Cindy’s room?” she repeats, sounding horrified. “Zeke, are you… are you sure that’s okay? I can sleep on the couch. Or in the car or something.”

That makes me laugh, and I give her a tug so she continues on down the steps. “You don’t have to sleep in the car. It’s fine.”

We make it down the stairs, though she stumbles on the last one and falls forward, and I have to catch her. For one second, my arms are full of Evie and her hair is tickling my face, filling my nose with its scent, and then she’s struggling and pushing away from me as she gathers her balance.

“I’m fine!” she says quickly, smoothing her hair back. “Don’t you dare try to say I fell.”

I snort but agree not to say it, and she follows me, duckling style, as I circle the house and tell Koby and Dominic to wrap it up, and that Evie and I will be waiting by the car. Then I take Evie on out and we begin the slow walk back to the car, me guiding Evie over every ridge and big crack in the uneven sidewalk. She chatters on and on about the party, about how good the cider was and how dirty the house was, and I just nod and smile and keep her from falling on her face.

We finally make it to the car and I lean against it in relief, while Evie paces in front of me, clearly one of those people that gets hyped up while drunk, instead of slowly getting more and more tired. She talks for a good five minutes and then finally seems to run out of steam. She comes and collapses against the side of the car right next to me, breathing quickly but with a big smile on her face.

After a moment she begins to fight with her hair, pushing it out of her eyes and trying to tuck her bangs behind her ear, though they keep popping free. “Stupid hair,” she grumbles, finally giving up.

“It’s fine,” I say quietly, and then I can’t resist any longer and I touch it again, picking up one big curl and carefully arranging it behind her shoulder.

Evie watches out of the corner of her eyes, completely still for once, and then she looks up at me as I pull my hand away. “I thought about cutting it,” she tells me. “After I got out of the hospital. Just cutting the shit out of it and getting a bob or something.”

“
What
?” I actually squawk the word and come off the side of the car, my casual lounging stance completely forgotten. “Why!”

Evie shrugs. “Because… Tony liked it so much. And he would grab it so often. But I realize long or short, people can still grab your hair. And I liked it too, and honestly, I just couldn’t get enough energy to get up and go to a salon and get it cut. It fell into the background against all the other stuff I was struggling with at the time.”

I settle back against the car, now that I know she’s not in danger of deciding to cut it off at the present time. “I can understand that, I guess,” I say carefully. “But I… like it too. It’s really long. It suits you.” It seems to be the safest thing to say and isn’t the whole truth, which is that I find her hair sexy as hell and I want to touch it every time I see her. And smell it, because I’m psycho.

“Thanks,” Evie says pensively. She chews on her lip for a moment, and then says with apparent nonchalance, “That’s why he got so mad at the club that night. When you found me? In the bathroom? You helped me with my coat and you touched my hair. He thought I was cheating on him with you.”

I leap away from the car again, so I can stand and face Evie fully. “He-” My voice is actually squeaking, and I strive to modulate it, “He did that to you because of
me
?” I remember that night vividly, was just thinking about it earlier. Helping her into her coat, thinking about how mad Tony got watching me touch Evie’s hair. I remember how I touched her hand one night too, washing it after she spilled her wine. Tony was furious. Furious enough to kill? I feel sick to my stomach, prickly and ugly all over at the thought. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” I demand.