Give Me Hell

  There are no screaming parents here to yell, “Turn it down!”

  I grin, picking up glassware while Evie throws the makings of a fruit salad into a bowl. “Get used to it,” I yell over the music, feeling almost normal.

  I take a seat on the couch. Henry and Evie pull up cushions on the floor. We pour drinks and add random pieces of cherry and orange. I’m watching Henry and Evie joke with each other when it hits me harder than a basketball to the face. I haven’t thought of Jake in three whole hours. A lump rises in my throat. I swallow it down with the icy concoction I created.

  “I’ve met someone,” Evie announces before I can give the realisation any more thought.

  Henry flinches, appearing alarmed.

  She blinks rapidly, her chin jutting out. “He’s really cute.”

  I get the impression this is not good news. Especially when I see Henry finish his entire drink in one swallow. He’s yet to speak a word.

  The song ends and Evie fills the silence as he pours another drink. “He’s nothing like Wild Renny or Asshole Kellar.”

  Her reassurance doesn’t ease the thick haze of tension that fogs the room.

  “Explain,” I order. I want to know what’s going on. The two of them don’t appear to hold any unrequited love for each other, so I can rule out jealousy.

  When Henry leans over and tops up my glass, I know it’s going to be good. “When Evie was sixteen,” he begins. Evie gets up from our little circle and stumbles slightly as she reaches for the jug. She walks away, muttering something about more alcohol. “She lost her mum in a car accident…” he takes a sip from his glass and whispers “…and she went off the rails.”

  I’m wrong. It isn’t good. It’s bad. Very bad.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say to Evie as she sets the empty jug on the counter.

  She waves a hand as though it’s nothing when it’s clearly not nothing.

  “Renny was into motorcycles. One night they went out drinking and decided to take the bike out on the open road. It didn’t end well. Evie wound up in the hospital and Renny disappeared. Just … poof!” Henry spreads out his fingers, mimicking a vanishing cloud of smoke. “He walked out of that hospital and left her there.”

  “Oh my god. What a dick!”

  He nods knowingly. “Right? And Kellar was a drug dealer.” My mouth falls open. “Evie didn’t know.” The blender switches on and Henry’s voice rises to be heard. “He slipped something in her drink at a party. There was a raid and the cops found her climbing up the railing of the third balcony in an attempt to fly.”

  If that were me, my brothers would have hunted the asshole down and put a bullet in his kneecaps. That was if I didn’t get to him first.

  “Can you see why I fear for her life when she says she’s met someone?”

  “I do.” Swallowing the last mouthful in my glass, I set it on the coffee table between us. “She likes the badasses.”

  Henry sighs. “She does.”

  “The bad badasses.”

  “Yep.”

  “She needs a different kind of badass. The kind that fights for good, not evil.”

  Evie returns with another full jug. She fills our empty glasses and we settle in, talking about our lives as we get to know each other. I learn that she has an older brother, Coby Jamieson, who sounds just like mine. Henry has three sisters. Two are twins and Grace, the sister he was closest with I’m told, is a model. He shows me images of her stored on his phone. One shows Grace walking the catwalk at Milan fashion week. Milan.

  “But she’s so young,” I exclaim, admiring the floaty black designer creation she’s wearing, though her hip bones jut from the outfit, pronouncing a thinness that looks unhealthy.

  “I know but she seems happy.” Henry shrugs but there’s sadness in his expression, making me think he misses her. Perhaps Evie fills the void.

  The room has begun to spin as we keep drinking. My glass is receiving another refill when the front door flies open with considerable fanfare and noise. My back is to the entrance, but I hear drunken, stumbling footfalls make their way inside. Evie whoops loudly. “All hail the Rice Bubbles!”

  I hiccup. “The Rice Bubbles?”

  “Snap, crackle, and pop,” she tells me. “The rest of the band. They live just across the hall.”

  “Say it ain’t so,” whines a male voice. “You’re partying without us?”

  I half-turn in my seat. My eyes land on the guy closest. His hair is black and silky, and his eyes are dark pools of ink. Evie points at him with her drink. “Meet Cooper.”

  Cooper’s gaze slides my way. “Sandwich. Paterson …” he says as he stares at me. “Why didn’t you tell me the most beautiful girl in the world was alive and well and not just living in Melbourne but partying in your apartment?” He moves closer, presumably for a better look because he’s squinting. Or possibly trying to wink. I’m not sure. It brings me to crotch level and a smirk curves his lips. “While you’re down there …” he trails off suggestively.

  “While I’m down there what?” I ask, my voice as pleasant as pie. “I can punch you in the junk?”

  Cooper cups the area with a wounded expression.

  “Back off, Cooper,” Henry orders. “You’re not touching her. This is our new roommate, M—”

  “Mac.”

  My gaze shoots to the owner of the shocked male voice.

  Oh my god. No. Just … no. How can this be? I suck in a mouthful of air as I drown in whiskey-coloured eyes.

  The rest of the band, Evie’s voice echoes in my head. They live just across the hall.

  I convinced myself I’d never see Jake again. If I did, it would be at a point in my life when I’m older, mature, and it wouldn’t hurt. Now is too soon. The hurt hasn’t had time to heal. The wound is still there. It’s not even a scar yet. Or scabbed over. Nor is it even fresh. It’s still an assault. I know because it’s stabbing me in the chest right now.

  My heart gallops harder than a wild horse as I look at him. Two years has added more muscle to his frame and tattoos to his arms. Yet his hair—the glorious silky brown strands that turn to spun gold in the sun—is no longer the same. It’s buzzed short. He promised me he’d never cut it short.

  I moaned throatily, powerless to restrain the sound. Jake’s head was between my legs. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging it in my fists, as his mouth sends me over the edge. He kissed his way up my body until he hovered above me, a playful smile on his lips. “One day you’re going to rip all the hair from my head if you keep doing that.”

  I smirked. “Well maybe you should just cut it all off.”

  “Never.” That same hair tickled the side of my face as he bent his head, pressing slow kisses to the side of my neck. “It’s how I know you’ve let go of yourself. That you’re lost in the moment. It’s how I know that you’re mine, Mackenzie Valentine. All mine.”

  The words echo in my head. Mine. All mine. But not anymore. It sets off a tightening in my chest like heartburn after eating too much curry. I hate curry.

  My gaze narrows on Jake. His eyes roam over me, eating me up like a last meal. He can’t get enough, but neither can I. The urge to escape takes hold. I’m not one to run from confrontation, but fury is taking root. That asshole abandoned me. Right when I needed him most. If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to throat punch him in front of everyone.

  “You two know each other?” Henry’s voice comes from far away.

  Jake opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. “No.”

  The solitary word erases him from my life completely, wiping away years of friendship, love, heartache, and memories.

  He jerks visibly. My response has cut him to the bone. Good. I twist the knife in further. “I’m sure I’d remember you.”

  “I guess you look like someone I used to know,” Jake says, ire burning in his eyes as if he has the right to be angry. Is this how it’s going to be? his expression asks.

  I set my jaw. Yes. I don’t want to remember you so
it’s easier to pretend I don’t know you at all.

  Cooper waves his arms between the two of us like a robot. Everyone looks at him apart from Jake and me. We’re too busy staring each other down. I don’t care if it’s immature. I won’t be the first to look away. I’m not the one who did wrong here.

  Cooper keeps up his jerky moves. “The tension is killing my party vibe.”

  Jake looks away first but my triumph falls flat. There are no winners here.

  He tucks his hands into his pockets and mutters, “I’m just gonna head out.” He turns and leaves. The apartment door closes behind him with a soft click.

  JAKE

  Not slamming that door takes every ounce of my control. Mac wants to play it like we don’t know each other? Fine. Does she want to hold a grudge for eternity? Okay. I get it. I hurt her. Bad. But if that spoiled bitch is pretending to herself that I never meant anything at all, then I’m damn well going to remind her.

  Except … I can’t. It’s been two years since the Valentines made sure I removed myself from Mac’s life permanently. I received a phone call from Mitch Valentine the day after she left.

  “How is she?” I asked because I was in absolute hell. With Mac gone it felt as if my life was over.

  “You don’t get to ask that question. Mac is none of your concern anymore.”

  My hand tightened on the phone, nostrils flaring as I leaned my back against the bedroom wall, letting it prop me upright. “It’s a simple question. All I want to know is that she got home and that she’s going to be okay.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” was all he said after a long pause.

  “Okay.” I drew in an aggravated breath. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “We know.”

  Mitch had always been a man of few words. It was frustrating as fuck. “Know what?”

  “We know all about your life since you left Sydney, Romero. After you gave us your address to come and collect Mac, Dad did a little digging.” Of course he did. Damn Valentines sticking their fingers in everyone’s pie. “I just got off the phone with him. He had a lot to say.”

  Sure he did. After some careful questioning with Mitch, I realised they knew just about everything. “Is there a point to this call?” I eventually asked, because if Mitch had one, he hadn’t reached it yet.

  “Yes there is.”

  “And?”

  “How’s your father doing?”

  What the … “He’s fine,” I snapped, annoyed at the change of subject. “Why? Do you know something?”

  “I know he’s the reason why you’re caught up in the King Street Boys. We found the lump sum payment you made for his care. Two years’ worth. That’s a lot of money.”

  I made the payment a week ago. It was part of the original plan in leaving with Mac. I wanted to make sure Dad was taken care of if something happened to me. “I had to do something.”

  “I know. But you don’t have to live this life anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can get you out.”

  I turned around and pressed my forehead to the wall, closing my eyes. I hated that they knew my business. But what I hated more was hearing Mitch offering to help. I wanted to leap at it. At this point I’d do anything. Even accept the offer. But I couldn’t because it was too late.

  “I already tried.” My voice cracked and it was embarrassing. I cleared my throat.

  “And you failed,” he said as I walked to my bed. Sinking down on the edge, I pressed the phone to my ear with one hand and held my head with the other. “With these people, Romero, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. If you want out, consider it done. Just say the word.”

  “How?” I asked. “Who is it you know?”

  “Does it matter?” At this point, no, it didn’t. “Just say the word, Romero.”

  “Goddammit.” I took a deep breath. “Get me out.”

  So they did. But freedom comes at a price. And we all know the cost. Stay away from Mackenzie Valentine. Except somehow we’ve been thrown together again. How am I supposed to do the right thing and keep my distance when fate keeps making it impossible?

  Walking inside my apartment across the hall, I swipe the half empty bottle of Jack from the counter. Tipping it back, I swallow easily as I wonder what Mac is doing here in Melbourne.

  Her face swims in my head as the alcohol burns through me. Fuck. I’ll never dig her out from under my skin. I swig another huge mouthful of whiskey and choke, sputtering it everywhere. How am I going to live across the hall from her in a constant state of look but don’t touch. It’s going to send me insane.

  Spinning, I throw the bottle against the wall. There’s no satisfaction in watching it shatter everywhere.

  “Dude,” Frog says as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  My head is fuzzy. I’m drunker than I realised. Jason Froggatt, my bandmate, roommate, and the best bass guitarist I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, stands in the doorway with his hand still resting on the handle. He looks so much like our other roommate, Cooper, they could pass for brothers. Frog’s brow is wrinkled, his dark brown eyes forlorn as he stares at the shattered bottle. Alcohol pools on the floor amongst shards of glass and clumps of dust.

  “Why …” he starts and then trails off as if he can’t speak. The waste of a Jack bottle is simply too much for him to comprehend.

  “It slipped from my hand,” I lie.

  His gaze drops to my hand. He’s inspecting it for lube. The last time booze was dropped in this house happened when Frog was drinking and rubbing one out at the same time. With the excessive amount of lube he somehow managed to get all over himself, the bottle glided right out of his slicked up hand and hit the bathroom mirror. The loud crash had Cooper and me running. We opened the door and found Frog standing naked in a pile of mirror shards, dick in hand, wailing about the seven years of bad luck about to rain down on his head.

  “What was that about back there?” he asks as I open kitchen cupboards, looking for something to clean the mess with. The empty shelves stare back at me as I think about how to answer Frog.

  Oh that’s just Mac once again reappearing in my life. You know her, right? Except he doesn’t know her because I never told anyone I let the best thing in my life slip right through my fingers without a fight. No point explaining to anyone that I’m a stupid sonofabitch. But I’m a sonofabitch that sleeps at night knowing she’s better off without me, right? Right?

  I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I can guess what the Valentine brothers will do. The minute they get wind of our inadvertent reunion, shit will hit the fan. I’ll be in for the beat down of my life.

  I slam the kitchen cupboards closed. There’s nothing to tidy the mess with. When you’re at the shops with limited funds and it comes down to either booze or cleaning supplies, what kind of chump buys a dustpan and broom?

  “It’s nothing,” I tell Frog, when it’s actually everything.

  The truth is that I see Mac everywhere. I catch her walking down the street, sundress on and hair tousled from swimming in the ocean. Then she turns around and it’s a stranger. I see her sitting in my lecture, three rows down. I stare at the back of her head for minutes at a time, missing everything my professor says. Then she laughs and tilts her head and her face is all wrong. A trapdoor opens and my heart plummets, each and every time.

  It leaves me feeling like I’m losing it.

  “You’re losing it, man,” Frog cautions, somehow stumbling onto the same conclusion. He staggers his way to the bathroom and unzips his pants to take a piss with the door wide open.

  “Don’t I know it,” I mutter.

  “What?” he shouts over the noise of him urinating into the bowl.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I search for my wallet. It’s wedged down the back of our ragged old sofa. I tuck it into my back pocket. “I’m going out to get another bottle!” I call out, heading for the door.

  “Fuck that,”
Frog says, zipping his jeans as he walks back in the room. “Stop being a killjoy and come back next door.” His words are slurred. Whatever he drank over there, it’s taking effect. “They have plenty of booze to fix whatever’s going on in your head right now.”

  I’m not admitting to what’s going on in my head right now. Or ever. I met this merry new band of friends two years ago, and if I’ve learned anything since then, it’s that they pry into everything. No topic is too big or too small, and the term too much information does not exist. Your business is their business, your success their success, and your problems their problems.

  It actually makes them the best kind of friends to have. They always have your back, even when they know you’re wrong.

  For example, Frog slept with another guy’s girlfriend last month. It wasn’t the coolest thing to do, but Frog believes in his right to fuck any living, breathing female that crosses his path. And he can be persuasive. The boyfriend found out. He came looking for Frog like a wounded bear charging prey. He had friends at his back and a knife in hand, fully prepared to cut Frog’s dick off and shove it down his throat.

  We knew this day would come eventually, so we might have been drunk and barely seated upright on our bar stools, but there was no element of surprise. We came out swinging, no holds barred. The showdown ended in a bar brawl, six stitches to a wound in Cooper’s back from a switch blade, two broken chairs, and a lifetime ban at the bar we brawled in. It also ended with Henry getting diarrhoea because we got stoned afterward and dared him to eat a giant lump of wasabi.

  No doubt my friends will come in handy when the Valentine brothers came to hunt me down and bury me in their dirt hole, but even that isn’t incentive enough to share my stupidity over losing the girl who is everything I never deserved.

  So when I open the apartment door and look at Frog, I keep my expression blank. “There’s nothing going on in my head.”