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

  I don’t think we’ll ever be how we used to be. We just have to find a new normal.

  “Okay. I’ll have my phone right next to me in case you need me. Call me.” She follows me to the door and gives me a hug. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I give her a wave and head out to my car.

  The clouds are rolling in, and it looks like it’s going to rain soon. Fitting for my mood, since my friend is going to be buried today.

  ~

  Pulling up to the small church on the outside of town, I find a place on the street to park and start walking in. The parking lot is already flooded with cars, and there are also dozens parked along the street. Cara wasn’t kidding. It looks like the entire school is here.

  I keep my head high and walk in the church. I won’t let anyone be catty or rude to me today. Today is about Logan, and only Logan.

  I see Cara up front with Logan’s dad and Jackson. I glance around for Easton, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  Making a beeline for Cara, I put my uncomfortableness behind me and give her a hug when I reach her. The pain is still there when I touch someone, but only barely.

  “Cara.”

  Looking over at Jackson, I give him a hug, too. Although with Jackson, it’s more like a small pat. He gives nothing back. “Hi, Jackson. How are you?”

  He looks at me with a sadness in his eyes that I’ve never seen from him. He doesn’t say a word, not one. Just looks at me and then turns around and walks away. I open my mouth, ready to make a comment on his limp and where it came from Cara walks up behind me. “Don’t.”

  I turn around and look at her. “What happened?”

  “He was shot, too.”

  I gasp. My hand shoots up to my mouth and tears flood my eyes. “What? What happened?” I whisper.

  “I don't know exactly, but I do know he got shot twice. He almost didn’t make it.” She wipes her own tears. “But he held on and they made it to the hospital just in time. Logan couldn’t, though. He got shot right in the he-hea-heart.” She bursts out a sob before saying, “Jackson isn’t talking. Like, he literally hasn’t said a word since Logan died.” I choke at the scent of vodka coming off her breath but decide not to say anything.

  I’ll give her this week, but I’ll kick her ass if she turns herself into an alcoholic.

  She sniffles and tries to control her sobs.

  “Shh.” I set my arm over her shoulder and pull her up. “I’m so sorry, Cara. So, so, sorry.” I hug her to my chest and let her weep on my shoulder. I couldn’t imagine. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling.

  If Easton were to have died?

  No, I can't even think about that. I can’t go there.

  “Have you seen Easton?” I ask.

  “No. I haven’t seen him at all today.” She weeps into my shoulder. After a few minutes, she calms down and lifts her head up from my shoulder, tears smearing the little eye makeup she’s wearing. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  “Do you want me to go with you and help you fix your makeup?”

  “No, just…no.” She waves me off and walks away.

  I stand there and watch her, so much sadness coming from her and everyone in this room. I glance over my shoulder, and immediately see Logan lying in the casket.

  Logan.

  He lays there in a suit that is so unlike him, with makeup on his face to make him look fresh, which is also unlike him. He’s a boy of rugged charm and was never one to work for perfection. Logan was perfect the way he was. This body in front of me is someone Logan would have hated.

  Despised.

  The entire thing feels wrong.

  I lean down and lay my hand over his cold one. “I love you, Logan. I know you’re the glue to hold everyone together, but I’m hoping I can help everyone. Somehow, someway, I'm going to try to make this right.” I give his stiff hand a squeeze before releasing him.

  My throat swells up, and tears spring to my eyes, but I swallow them back. I want to look at him and keep him in my memory forever, but I also can’t bear to look at him another second. It’s too painful. It’s too much.

  It’s Logan, for fuck’s sake. He’s the one that’s supposed to outlive us all.

  When the pastor walks in, we all take our seats. Jackson sits in the front row with Rich, Collin, Randall, and what I’m assuming is Logan’s distant family members. Cara and I go and sit in the second row.

  Hundreds of other people sit and stand behind us. If the crowd here doesn’t prove what kind of person he was, I don’t know what would.

  Still no Easton.

  Just as the pastor is about to start speaking, however, the doors creak open and in comes Easton.

  Speak of the fucking devil. Reaper, whatever.

  He walks in with purpose and doesn’t stray his gaze from his spot near Rich. Except for the moment he passes my row. At that very moment, he turns his head and sticks me with a searing gaze. He snarls at me, looking devastatingly handsome and frightening all at the same time.

  What shocks me, though, are the bruises scattered across his face. Bruise on the cheekbone. Black eye. Split lip and eyebrow. It looks like he got jumped, but I know for a fact that would never in a million years happen to Easton.

  He must be training again, but still, it shocks me that he would be this battered. He never once has walked out with a black eye after training or fighting.

  After he takes a seat next to Jackson, the pastor resumes his walk to the front.

  “Good afternoon. Today we are here to celebrate the life of Logan Boyer. A son, a friend, a classmate, a person you could always count on. He might be gone too soon, but he will never, ever be forgotten.” He continues on about stories of Logan throughout the years, making people laugh while others cry. Cara weeps next to me, and I try to hold her and comfort her, but it does nothing to stop her tears.

  A few people get up to say something about him, but I can barely hear them. My focus, my only focus, is Easton. He sits there, stoic, showing no emotion. His body sits rigid in his seat, and if I were to look at his fists, I’m almost positive his knuckles would turn white from the tightness of his clenching.

  I glance at Jackson, who also sits there with an emotionless face. My heart breaks. All of us, who were such a close group, are broken. Our link is severed, and that link was Logan.

  The pastor comes back up to the podium to speak. “We will be walking over to the cemetery next door for the burial. Everyone is welcome.” And with that, he gives us a small smile and a nod and walks off.

  Everyone stands up to walk next door, and once we get outside, I say to Cara, “I’ll be right back. Will you be okay?”

  She shrugs with a handful of tissues clutched in her palm, obviously not okay, but this is my only chance.

  I have to talk to Easton.

  I stop and turn around, walking back into the church in search of Easton. I see a group up by the casket. Must be the pallbearers who will walk Logan over to his plot. I probably shouldn’t interrupt, but this might be my only chance.

  I stand off to the side, and once the man who I recognize as the guy standing in the basement when I saw Logan notices me, he nods in my direction, and everyone turns my way. “We’ll give you a minute,” He says quietly and walks off with the other guys.

  “What the hell do you want?” Easton sighs. Still angry.

  “You haven’t answered any of my calls.” I try not to sound hurt, but I’m most definitely hurt.

  “And you can’t take the hint?” He doesn’t look at me, not once. Instead, he straightens his sleeve, looks at the casket, pulls out his phone to check the time, anything else besides glancing at me.

  “I just want to help.” I bring my hands up and slap them back at my sides. I’m not the bad person here, but Easton is making me feel like I am.

  He turns his sharp gaze towards me and snarls, “I don’t want your fucking help, Rose. Understand? I don’t. Fucking want. Your help. I don�
�t want to talk to you, and I most definitely don’t want to look at you. Do me a favor—pack your shit and leave the Grove. I don’t want you here.”

  Tears blur my sight, and this time I’m unable to stop them from flowing down my cheeks. “I just don’t understand. We we’re so happy and—” He cuts me off again and walks up to me, standing toe to toe as he spits his words in my face.

  “Were, Rose. We were happy. Past fucking tense. You are nothing but a reminder of everything that I’ve lost. You’re a distraction, a fucking addition that I don’t need in my life. Not now, not ever.”

  “Just—”

  “Fucking leave, Rose. Get the hell out of my face!” He booms at me in this quiet, empty church, making his voice echo off the walls, and it sounds much more ominous than it should.

  “Uh, Easton? We’ve got to head over.” The large man says from a doorway off to the side, not even giving me a glance.

  Easton looks at me one more time. “Leave me alone, Rose. This is your final warning.”

  With a frown and a heavy heart, I turn around from the man I love carrying the casket of another man I love and walk out of the church. If it weren’t Logan who was about to be buried, I would walk away from this entire funeral and not look back. But I can’t do that to Logan, and I can’t turn my back on Cara when she needs me.

  So, with that thought, I tuck my feelings into the dark part of my soul and fake a brave face for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Keep your enemies close because it hurts less when they die.

  Easton

  Everyone stands up and starts walking back to their cars from Logan’s burial plot, but I’m glued to this fucking chair. I stare at the big pile of dirt scattered around the grass from the massive hole in the ground. That empty hole in the ground that they had to make room for to fit the wooden box inside. That wooden box that my boy will rot and decay in until the end of time.

  Some people think of random things when they get in this zombie-like state. Random shit that doesn’t make sense just to cope with the tragedy going on in that moment.

  I’m not thinking of much of anything.

  I sit here and watch everyone trickle out of the cemetery with sadness painted on their faces. Some girls cry while the guys look like they just lost their best friend. Jackson hobbled out of here with an emotionless expression that I’m sure looked similar to mine. He tried to hide his cringe with every step he took, but I know he’s still in pain.

  We’re speaking, but he’s going through some shit and his door is locked and sealed tight and he’s not letting anybody in. Myself included.

  One of our neighbors is hosting a meal and celebration of life or whatever the fuck they call it. Everyone is going, but from what I hear, after they adults leave it’s supposed to become some ridiculously huge party.

  Get fucked, get drunk type of party.

  Yeah, not really interested. I just don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s my best friend, and Rich just about slapped me in the face when I showed my disinterest in going.

  I just don’t understand why anyone would want to party when their loved one just died. Yeah, sure, give me some liquor, some weed, and shove me in a dark room until this rain cloud of my shit life passes. But until then, I’m not really in the mood to celebrate life. What life? He’s fucking dead.

  So, I’ll bury my hate and go drink myself into a stupor until I can’t see straight. I’m just not going to stay a minute longer than Rich does. I’d rather be at home and forget this day ever happened, but I guess I have to live with the generic I’m sorry for your loss speech be spit at me on repeat until my ears bleed.

  I was barely able to glance at Rose throughout the burial. I can’t bear to look at her sad puppy dog eyes as she glances at me in hopes that I’ll come groveling on my hands and knees. The only time I couldn’t keep my eyes away was when she walked up to pick up a rose with Cara, and I watched as they gently placed it on the casket. Rose had to practically carry Cara out of there because she was crying so hard.

  I know I’m a dick. I know I’m a bastard. I’ll rot in hell with the worst of them for how I’ve treated Rose and the things I’ve done in life. I just can’t sit back and pretend life is meaningful and that I’ll amount to anything worthy of her.

  I’m not. I won’t.

  I just don’t really care anymore, to be honest. I’ll coast through life and do what I’m supposed to do. I need to forget about what’s happened. I need to stay focused on the end goal, and that’s fighting. Fuck everything else.

  Fuck them all.

  I sit alone in the middle of a hundred or so other empty chairs, watching the heavy, dark oak casket lay in the dirt. It just feels wrong. I can feel it in my veins. Logan wasn’t supposed to die. I just know he wasn’t.

  Except, nothing ever goes how it’s supposed to go. I have a feeling this world is ruled by some sick psycho fucks that just want to torment us for eternity.

  Yup. Pretty much.

  After a while, I hear nothing. Turning around, I see most of the cars gone from the church. Probably on their way to the party to eat and talk about how good of a boy Logan was.

  Yup. Pretty much.

  Maybe I can just sit here the entire evening. No one will notice I’m missing for at least a few hours. I can plead that my grief took over and time flew by. I’m set in stone with my decision until a drop hits me on the cheek.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Within minutes, it’s pouring.

  I really do live in fucking hell.

  “Way to go, bro. I wouldn’t want to sit around my ass, either.” I get up and start jogging to my car, ducking as if that would keep me hidden from any rain drops. I’m pretty sure it’s just a rain cloud directly over my head, because it feels like every single drop hits me directly in the eye.

  I’m fucking cursed.

  I hop into my car and let out a disgruntled groan at my sopping wet clothes. I should go home and change, but I know if I do, I’m never leaving.

  I drive to the party with no music on, too annoyed and exhausted to even move my arms and switch it on. I’m going to be a horrible party guest, and they should know better than to invite me to one of these things with the state that I’m in.

  I can’t even deny that another reason I’m going is to make sure Rose doesn’t end up getting herself into any bullshit again. I really need to stop worrying about her and her accident-prone self. I shouldn’t even blink an eye in her direction at this point. I don’t know why I do this shit to myself.

  Actually, I do know why. She’s my poison. She’s the shiny glass object and I’m the toddler looking at it in awe. I know I should stay away. I know I’m going to end up regretting my decisions. But at the risk of shattering that glass object to the floor and watching the shards spread across the floor? Worth it. Totally worth it if I can get just one glimpse at Rose. One glimpse at my poison.

  I know I’m being stupid, because I’m constantly telling myself and Rose that she needs to leave me the hell alone. Move on. Fuck off, basically.

  Then I end up dragging myself, soaking wet, to a party. Just so I can watch her.

  I shake my head at my pathetic ass. Because I am—pathetic, that is.

  When I pull up to the party, I know I’m going to need a lot of fucking booze to get me through the night. The cars parked along each side of the street is a little alarming. Our houses aren’t that big, where the hell are they fitting all of these people?

  I park and hop out of my truck, glad the rain stopped so I don’t have to be victim to anymore violent rain drops. I stayed at the cemetery so long that the sun is starting to go down. Any time now, the adults will start to leave and the younger ones are going to start getting drunk and high.

  Any other time, I might be down to get lost in the buzz. Tonight, I still do. Just not around people.

  As expected, everyone who passes me offers their condolences on the loss of such a wonderful pe
rson. I keep my head down and ignore them. I feel like my fuse is already lit, and one wrong move and I might snap.

  Stepping inside Ben’s house, I walk straight to the small kitchen and bypass the mounds of food, going straight for the bottles of liquor in the corner that haven’t even been brought out yet.

  Fuck it.

  Ben is a couple years older than us but stuck around (as most of us from the Grove do) and works as an overnight manager at the local grocery store. His mom, Ms. Wollner, is actually a pretty sweet lady. She’s one of the last type of people that belong in this city, more so this town, but she stuck with it and still has quite the positive outlook on life. Their house is also a lot better off than the rest of ours. Ben keeps this house as put together as possible. No decaying front steps, no holes in the walls. It’s just filled with birds.

  A lot of fucking birds.

  Ms. Wollner collects glass figurine birds, and it creeps me out a bit with the amount of color flooding each tiny room.

  “Easton, I’m so sorry, dear.” Ms. Wollner walks up behind me and gives me a pat on the back. I stiffen, but out of respect don’t pull away from her.

  “Thanks.” I grumble.

  “Oh, boy. You are soaking wet. Why don’t you head home and change out of these clothes? You’re going to catch a cold otherwise.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Would you like me to find you something of Ben’s? He could sure part with a few of his shirts that he never wears.”

  “Ms. Wollner, I’m fine.” I’m a little shorter this time when I speak to her, and I can tell she takes offense by the way her eyebrows furrow.

  “Well, I was just trying to help.” She’s flustered, and she runs her hand down her round belly and backs away from me.

  She wants to reprimand me like she would her own son for showing disrespect. But she can’t, because I am, well, me.

  “I’m sorry.” I look at her directly this time, but when she looks down at the bottle of liquor in my hand, she just lets out of a huff, grabs one of the dishes full of some kind of casserole, and walks off.