Thorn in the Dark (Grove High School Book Two) Read online

  Everything else about him is different.

  I can’t take the silence, so I walk up to him and ask, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Isn’t this what you wanted? To see Logan? I just did what you guys asked.” He says in a lazy tone.

  “I’m so sorry about Logan, Easton.” I walk up to him to hug him, but he steps out of my path.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  Hurt hits me in the center of my chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “What? What did I do? Please, tell me.” I plead. I want to make this right, whatever I did, I just want to make it right.

  “You. You come here and distract me. You fucking distract me, and it gets me off focus. If I weren’t too busy worrying about your ass constantly, I would have been more focused on my fucking friend who got shot! This, Rose, this is all your fault!” He booms at me.

  Tears spring to my eyes and heartbreak, and sorrow, and grief hit me at once. Glancing at Cara, she doesn’t even look up or notice our spat. I look back at Easton and see his black eyes staring at me with hatred.

  I never wanted any of this to happen.

  “Cara,” Easton says monotonously.

  Cara quiets down from her wails, but otherwise gives no indication that she’s listening to Easton.

  Easton looks right at me as he says his next words. “Logan’s last words were for me to tell you he loved you and wanted to marry you once we all graduated. He can’t do that now. Because pussy clouds your judgment and makes you make mistakes. We all made a mistake by letting you both into our lives. Now, look. Logan. Is. Dead.”

  Cara screams like her heart is getting ripped in two.

  My inner cheek oozes blood from me biting it so hard. I’ve never wanted out of my skin as badly as I do this moment. Standing here, in this dark, dank basement with the man I love looking at me like I’m his worst enemy, I feel utterly alone.

  I let out a wail when I can’t take the pain any longer and do the only thing I can at this point. I leave.

  I run until I can’t run anymore. And then I cry. I cry and walk the entire twenty miles home.

  And the worst part is, Easton never stops me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The silence of death is painfully loud.

  Easton

  All I see is death.

  It surrounds me around every corner I turn.

  I feel like every single person I know, trust, and appreciate dies or leaves in some way or another. I can’t do anything to stop it. And looking at the pain on my brother’s face as he takes his last breath is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  I’ve seen enough death in my life to understand the stages that lead up to it. But nothing can prepare you for the moment someone you love stares off into nothing, and there is absolutely no life in those eyes.

  It was absolute hell driving five hours back home with my best friend dead in the backseat of his own car. I had to drive back without convincing myself to drive into a ditch and put us all out of our misery.

  I wanted nothing more than to end my life alongside his.

  I kept glancing back in the rearview mirror and seeing his body covered by some cheap blanket we stole from the motel so I didn’t have to see his lifeless body staring back at me.

  The form of my brother, my best friend, my family, laying there like some sack of fucking potatoes who didn’t take one breath the entire five hours felt similar to pulling off your fingernails with a pliers.

  Excruciating.

  It was the longest five hours of my life.

  I can’t escape death, and it can’t escape me.

  Watching his father mourn over his body is on my list of top things I never want to see again.

  I’ve never seen him cry. I’ve never seen any of Rich’s men cry. Weep. Mourn. It felt like a poker was sitting in a blazing fire for a week and then that shit was plunged inside my gut.

  I stood by him until the weeping of his father got to unbearable heights, and I was about to lose my shit. Jackson left a while ago. He came in and looked at Logan and then had to get ushered to the hospital for a bag of blood.

  He barely said a word since Logan died. I think he went to a dark place, and I don’t know how to pull him out of it.

  I don’t have time, because I’m in my own fucking dark place.

  I went home and got so hammered I could barely see straight. I also found a pack of cigarettes that I hardly ever smoke in my nightstand and started chain-smoking like it’s going out of style. When I heard Cara and Rose pounding on my door, I started feeling fury that I didn’t even realize I was harboring.

  Fury for myself, for Cara, for Rose. For everyone who has to deal with losing Logan. He’s a better person than any of us will ever be, and the world is unlucky to have lost him. We all are.

  I couldn’t help but be a fucking asshole when they walked into my room. If it wasn’t for them, I am almost certain he wouldn’t be dead. These fucking women make us vulnerable and make our minds a mess.

  If they wanted to see what they did to him, I was more than happy to give them first-class seats.

  I know my switch is off. I know I shouldn’t treat them like this because it’s not really their fault.

  But it is. And I fucking hate them for it.

  Rose’s face when she could tell she lost me is something I’ll never forget. She repeatedly tries to fix everything all the damn time, and I know it was difficult for her to walk away.

  The fixer of all, my Rose. Sharp as a fucking thorn and a pain in my damn ass.

  Can she stick a beating heart back into my best friend? Nope. Well, then she’s shit out of luck.

  I’m gone, we’re done, and this shit is over.

  No more women, no more distractions. A fuck is fine, but it’s useless to put feelings into it when nothing good ever comes of it. Ever.

  When she went running out of the basement, I had to keep telling myself not to follow after her. This isn’t a safe area, and I have no idea how she got home, but I couldn’t let myself give in and follow her. She can’t keep thinking I’m the hero in this story. Because I’m not. I’m the villain, and I’m the Reaper.

  The end.

  Shortly after Rose left, Cara left after her with a red-stained face and too choked up to speak. I didn’t follow after her or ask her questions, either.

  Once I was once again alone, I stood there and just stared at Logan. For how long, I’m not sure. Seconds, minutes, hours passed until Logan’s dad and a coroner came in to take Logan’s body away. We’ve already held him too long, and he was bound to smell soon. They took him to the local funeral home to get him ready for his funeral tomorrow. He’s going to get buried next to his mother.

  Everyone has been a mess around me. Collin keeps shouting that he should have been in Wisconsin with his son. Rich said they were needed elsewhere, and I think it’s completely ruined Collin that he wasn’t there when his son died. They keep fighting, and they never fight. Everything is just falling apart, piece by piece.

  Little by little. Soon there isn’t going to be anything left except the ruins of our lives.

  After Logan was taken away, Hugo came up to me and patted me on the shoulder. “Go home, E. Get some rest. It’s been a long day. Shit, long weekend.”

  I gave him a nod and started walking to my car. Hours of standing there had sobered me up a bit, and that shit was not okay with me. I planned to be fucked up for a good, long time.

  First thing tomorrow, I’m heading to the gym to start training again. I’ve got to get my head back in the game and get some of this anger out of me. Or else I’m honestly worried I'm going to start shooting people for the hell of it.

  With a heavy sigh, I hop into my truck and head to the nearest liquor store.

  Time to get drunk.

  ~

  Tuesday morning.

  I get to bury my best friend today.

  I woke up with way more alcohol in my sy
stem then I should have. The moment I became conscious, the spinning feeling made the day suck before I realized what today even was. Once I realized I would be carrying him in a six-foot wooden box, I got up—fuck the spins—and threw on some gym shorts and a t-shirt and sped off to the gym.

  I’m going to spend the day exhausting myself so I can work this rage out of me. I can’t imagine my reaction if I go in there with pent up energy.

  I’d probably burn the motherfucking place down. With Logan and that damn box in it.

  So, best I go to the gym and try and beat this anger out of me before it beats me.

  With squinted eyes, I make my way there and park sideways, stumbling out and making my way in. Duke stands behind the front desk and when he looks up at me, gives me a heavy frown.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Logan’s funeral is today. Get the hell out of here.” He barks at me.

  “Fuck off.”

  “You’re drunk!” He scoffs, and I almost sneer at him. He acts like I’ve never showed up drunk before. Newsflash, buddy, I can fight sober and I can fight drunk.

  “Easton, leave before I kick your ass out.”

  I decide to just ignore him all together as I stalk to the locker rooms. I’m going to find some pathetic fool to fight me. I need real fists today.

  “I swear to God, Easton, you fuck this up and I’m fucking done!” He shouts at me from across the gym.

  I give him the middle finger and slam my hand into the locker room door, grab my gear from my locker and walk back out to the ring. A few guys exercise with bags and there are a few amateurs fighting with each other in the ring. They give me a look like I’m some celebrity as I walk up to them. Not being even slightly in the mood for their heavy gazes today, I bark out, “Who’s in the mood for a couple rounds?”

  They look at each other with wide eyes before the bigger one steps forward and announces, “I’ll give it a go.”

  Give it a go? That’s what they call it now days?

  The smaller one steps off and I step on. He gives me a nervous smile as he walks past me and I almost snort. Except I don’t think I’ve felt a lick of emotion since Logan died.

  Not one.

  Looking back at the guy who decided to stay, he already has his hand out as he announces, “Leroy.”

  “Easton.” I mumble and shake hands with him.

  “Yeah, I know.” He clears his throat in embarrassment and steps back, getting into position.

  I hobble back to my corner and make sure my hands are taped well enough. Duke usually helps me, but he’s got a stick so far up his ass today he’s probably choking on it.

  The smaller dude who chickened out rings the little bell off to the side, and we’re off. Leroy starts bouncing on his toes so high and I look at him like an idiot.

  Is he fucking dancing?

  I snarl at him and watch him walk in circles around me. Lazily, I walk out and throw a jab at his jaw. Mr. Dancer hops away from me before laying one in my right cheek.

  Shit. Maybe I’m more drunk than I realized.

  He hits me again and I stumble back, loving the feeling of pain zinging through my skull. It’s taking away from the feeling everywhere else in my body.

  I land an uppercut, because I can’t just let myself fumble and have him take over. That’s not me, and when he lands another punch, I let him.

  When he lands another one after that, I let him hit me that time, too.

  He keeps landing punches, and I keep landing punches, and this is the first time that I’m actually allowing myself in—fuck—who the hell knows how long, get hit repeatedly. I get hit hard.

  When I feel blood start trickling down my face, I lick it off my upper lip and smile at him. I love the pain throbbing throughout my face. It’s a welcome pain.

  I open the doors and let the agony take over as Leroy’s excitement over hitting the Reaper takes on new heights. He hops about a foot in the air as he hits me. I would laugh if I was capable of such things. I’m not, though.

  How can I? Logan’s dead.

  When Leroy lands the hardest one yet to my right eye, I go down like a sack of bricks and hear shouting going on around me. I stare up at the ceiling and watch the spinning room as Duke suddenly shows up and barks orders at Leroy.

  Soon it’s just me laying on the ground with Duke standing over me, shouting and yelling and waving his arms around like a mad man.

  Within minutes, I’m lifted to my feet and I stumble out to my car with Duke by my side. He tosses me into the backseat and mumbles something about reckless kids, and soon, we start moving and I’m instantly lulled to dreamland with the vibration of the truck.

  ~

  “Wake the fuck up, you idiot.” Cold water washes over my face, and for a moment it feels like I’m drowning. I sit up so fast, the world tips sideways and I almost fall back over.

  “What the fuck!” I roar. “What the fuck are you doing?” I try to stand up, but Duke stands over me with such anger that I fall back down. I’m confused. What the fuck happened?

  “No. What the fuck are you doing? You’re acting like a damn first timer out there. That, or you’re suicidal!”

  I try to clear the fog from my brain to remember what happened when—oh, shit. Yeah.

  I reach up and touch my face and it feels crusty and hurts like a bitch. I wince as I pull my hand away.

  “Exactly. Let me ask you again, what the fuck are you doing?” He asks again.

  I turn away from him to hide the embarrassment and anger I’m feeling. I was more intoxicated than I thought I was when I walked into the gym this morning. I should have known better than to fight that drunk. Then things just got… yeah.

  “Now, not only do you look like hell, but you’re about to miss your best friend’s funeral. Aren’t you a pallbearer? Aren’t you supposed to, like, carry the casket or something?”

  I shake my head, “Funeral doesn’t start until three.”

  Duke rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket, lighting up the screen and sticking it in my face. “Once again, you’re a dumbass today, apparently. And you’re fucking late. Get dressed and go. I’ll meet you down there later.”

  Blaring in big numbers on his phone says three-fifteen.

  Fuck.

  I shoot up and run to my bedroom to get ready. I hear the front door slam and let out a sigh when I know Duke is gone. I don’t know how the hell he’s getting back to the gym. But I can’t worry about that right now.

  Because I’m late as fuck and I’m so screwed.

  I throw on my clothes and sprint out of the house with my socks on and shoes in hand.

  Time to bury my friend.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How do you fight for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for?

  Rose

  Tuesday.

  The day of Logan’s funeral.

  I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom at myself dressed in my most funeral-like dress that I could find in my closet. This will be my first funeral since, well, ever.

  I’m not sure what to expect, but from what Cara has heard, most of the school is planning to be there.

  When I got home the other night, my mom was having a fit and actually did call the police this time. I would have called her on my walk home from St. Paul, but of course, my phone decided to die on me shortly after I ran out of the warehouse.

  She started crying right when I walked in the door, and since I was already crying because of Logan and Easton, it just made the both of us cry harder. She called the police quickly to let them know that I was home and then hauled me over to the couch where we had a long talk.

  I didn’t want to get into the whole Corey thing, so I let her know I just found out about a good friend dying—who was also Cara’s boyfriend—and she allowed the Corey shit to sit on the back burner for a while to let me grieve my friend.

  She did make me go to school yesterday, which was crazy awkward and quiet since I haven’t been there in so long,
and none of my friends were there. I had a shit load of homework, so it was probably a good thing. I got some much-needed work done.

  I called Cara on lunch to ask her why she didn’t come to school, and she mumbled responses to me about being sick and not leaving the bed. Her words were also slurred, so my bet is that she has been going heavy on the vodka.

  I wanted to go over to her house after school, but she basically told me to fuck off in the nicest way possible.

  “I don’t want to see anyone, Rose. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Click.

  I’ve also tried to call Easton, who’s been completely ignoring my calls. One to two rings and straight to voicemail. All text messages are going unanswered.

  Are we really over?

  Does he honestly blame me?

  I’m hoping he will speak to me today at the funeral. I don’t know what I’ll do if he won’t.

  The biggest smack in the face hit me on my long walk home.

  I love Easton.

  I love him so fucking much, and I can’t do anything about it if he won’t even speak to me. I don’t know what today is going to bring, but I’m hoping he will at least let me get a few words in.

  I’ve dug into my inner Woodbury girl and even prepared an entire speech.

  My mom pops her head around the corner with a sympathetic look on her face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come? I’m sure the office wouldn’t mind me taking a day off.”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine.” Switching the light off, I walk back towards my room and grab my phone and clutch. “I’m sure I’ll be taking care of Cara the entire time, anyway.”

  “But who is going to be taking care of you?” She cocks her head to the side. I let it slip that me and Easton were no longer a thing. She tried to hide the happiness that lit up in her eyes, but it was pretty fucking apparent.

  “I will be fine, Mom. I’ll call you later, okay?” I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. We’re in this awkward limbo of how to act around each other. She wants to be motherly and her new mom-ish self while also be her former bitchy self. I, on the other hand, want to make her happy, but it’s just so, entirely hard with all the shit I’ve been through.