Fates (6 page)

Of
course
Karen had told Lily. “Look, I had a family emergency. It's none of your business, anyway.”

“She's my best friend, so yeah, it
is
my business.” Lily's makeup made her look just like a bug. Like a large, skinny insect. “A word of advice, Lucas: You're not the only guy who's interested. You
might
want to try a little harder.”

Heat surged up the back of his neck. Lily was one of the few people who outwardly disliked him, although as far as he knew, he'd never done anything to make her feel that way. Usually he just ignored her, but tonight, he just wasn't in the mood to take it.

“A word of advice, Lily: Keep your nose job out of it.”

“Cute. Very original.” She turned her back to him.

Past the kitchen was a short hallway that led, Luc knew, to the boat's three bedrooms. A cord hung across the hallway, with a neatly lettered
please keep out
sign attached to it.

Everyone respected Karen's rules. Luc hesitated, debating whether he should look for her there, but in the end he decided against it. She was hosting the party. She wouldn't be hiding out in a bedroom.

He went back upstairs and wound back toward the prow, where there was a smaller deck. In the shadows, where the spiral staircase led to the upper deck, was the girl he had seen before, the one with the braid.

The same flicker of recognition tugged at him. He still hadn't seen her face, but the way the light shone behind her outlined the curves under her cream-colored shirt. She was thin—a little bony, even—but he could tell by the way she accepted a beer from one guy and at the same time easily laughed at something a different guy was saying that she was confident as hell.

Her tank top dipped low in the back, he noticed, exposing her tanned shoulder blades.

Luc swallowed hard.

Suddenly, the crowd seemed to clear. The two guys disappeared up the stairs, leaving the girl with the braid alone in a pocket of shadows.

Something leapt inside Luc's chest, like when space opened up on the field and he knew he had a shot. There was no thought involved, just his body moving toward the goal. He had to see her face.

A breeze lifted strands of hair that had escaped the braid hanging over her shoulder. They danced wildly around her head, and this time she let them.

He smelled flowers mixed with the salty sea air as he approached.

He must have made a sound, because she spun around and pinned him with her stare. Gray eyes. A flare of hot recognition leapt in his gut.

It was the girl from the accident; the girl who had run away.

“Hey—hey again,” he stammered. Shock kept his brain from telling his mouth what to say, and he stood there like an idiot with his mouth hanging half open. He had hoped to see her again, but now that she was right in front of him, all his game was completely gone. “You're here.”
Idiot.

Her eyes appeared to grow darker. Those eyes—like there were shadows moving underneath them. She said nothing.

He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.
Get a grip, man.

“So, you know Karen?” Of everything he could have asked, why had that question been the one to pop out? He could have asked where she had run off to, if she was okay, a hundred other questions that
weren't
about whether or not she knew his girlfriend.

“I've … seen her before,” the girl answered cautiously.

Her voice had a musical lilt to it. He found himself moving closer without intending to. She smelled like flowers—
lilac.
The word popped into his head. It was intoxicating. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in. Do more than just breathe her in.

His gaze ran over her face, stopping at the spot on her temple where, the day before, a small gash had leaked blood. Now only a tiny mark indicated she'd even been hurt.

He had a sudden vision of that poor lady: that form he'd seen hunched over the steering wheel. He'd never seen a dead person before.

“Why did you run away yesterday?” he asked, his throat dry as sandpaper.

She frowned. “Why do you care?”

Now,
that
was a good question. He chalked it up to guilt, for not making sure she was okay … but standing there so close he could feel her breath against his face, he knew it wasn't guilt. Not at all.

“Why are you avoiding my question?” He inched closer. She tried to back away, but the railing kept her from going any farther. The space between them grew smaller; the smell of her, that insane smell of flowers, intensified. “Look, I was worried. The woman who was driving—”

“I didn't know her,” she said quickly. “She was just giving me a ride. There was no reason to stick around. She—she just worked at my school.”

Luc exhaled. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. “That's so intense,” he said. “I'm really sorry you had to see that.”

She just stared at him wordlessly. He ran a hand through his hair. “Let's try this again, okay? My name's Lucas. What's yours?” He extended his hand. “Can we do this? Can we start over?”

The girl stared at his hand as though she'd never seen one before. Then, thankfully, she laughed. Her laugh was deep and beautiful, like a low note on a piano. “Corinthe.”

He stared at her mouth and fought the intense desire to hear her whisper his name instead. Light from the paper lanterns hit the dangling crystals at her ears, and bright dots danced over her neck like tiny fireflies. She craned her neck to look past him and he almost reached up to run his fingers down the curve at her shoulder.

“Corinthe. Good. Great. Well, Corinthe, I'm glad you're okay,” he said.

A look of puzzlement passed over her face. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, as though the words were unfamiliar. She moved a few steps away from him, and he panicked. He didn't want her to disappear yet.

“Can I get you a drink? There's—”

“No thanks. I'm fine.” She held up the beer she clearly hadn't even taken a sip from, then turned and wrapped her free hand around the railing, tipping her head back to look up.

Luc moved next to her cautiously, worried she might suddenly run off again. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Stars.” She fell silent for a few moments. “It's amazing you can still see the stars with all the smog, but you can.”

He didn't need to look up to know which constellation would be overhead, which stars would be the brightest this time of year. “Do you have a favorite?”

She glanced at him for just a second. “No. How can you choose just one? They aren't anything special alone. But together …” She swept her hand in a wide arc, but he kept his eyes locked on her face.

She was so beautiful.

For a few minutes, they stood in silence. Luc found, weirdly, that the lapse in conversation didn't feel uncomfortable. He was actually enjoying standing next to her without speaking, listening to her quiet breaths, watching the light trace the outlines of her hair and her throat.

Corinthe spoke abruptly. “It wasn't intense.”

“What?”

Corinthe turned to face him. “The accident. It wasn't intense. And I'm not sorry I was there. Death is the balance to life.” She said it matter-of-factly, but he thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty cross her face. He had a sudden image of his mother—alone, kicking in an alley. At least, that was what his father had told him once, in a drunken stupor. Neither of them had brought it up again, and Luc was thankful for that. He shoved the thought away.

“You sound like you've been around death before,” he said.

She looked up at the stars again. “Yes, I have.”

He didn't push her. But he wanted her to know he really understood, if she needed to talk.

“Look, Corinthe …” The words died on his lips as she turned toward him, her wide eyes darker than he remembered. Without really thinking, he lifted his hand and ran one finger over the spot where the cut had been.

Corinthe froze under his touch. For a second, he thought she was going to bolt. Their eyes met and an electric current ran through his whole body. He felt a humming in his ears as he leaned forward. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. The look in her eyes made it hard to think about anything except kissing her.

Then she jerked away and stumbled a few steps backward. She looked toward the water, where a faint green light buzzed in the distance.

“I need to go.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She brushed past him and started back toward the front deck.

“Wait!” Luc followed her blindly along the narrow walkway, where the music was louder. Even more people were packed onto the lower deck, and he had to push his way through the crowd to follow her. He didn't know what he was doing, could think of nothing but being close to her again.

He followed her when she went down the steps into the cabin, past Lily, who was now ranting to some other girls about how she'd almost drowned in a hot tub in Vail. He'd heard that story at least a dozen times.

When Corinthe ducked under the gold rope blocking off the hallway to the bedrooms, he hesitated.

“We're not supposed to—” he started, but she cut him off.

“You don't have to follow me,” she said neutrally, with a quick glance over her shoulder.

Damn it. He was acting like an idiot. But he still ducked under the rope and went down the hall after her.

“So you didn't say before exactly how you know this crowd,” he prompted.

Corinthe had stopped in front of a closed door. She didn't answer him. She turned the handle and the door swung inward silently.

“Occupied,” a guy blurted out. In the darkness Luc made out that same faint glow again—a tiny pinprick of greenish light, humming and crackling as it made its way across the room.

Corinthe hit the light switch. Someone screamed. Luc froze. The images bombarded him like stills, like pictures lit up by a flash: one after the other, disjointed, senseless.

Karen.

Mike.

Together.

On the bed.

Mike's hand slid out from underneath Karen's black silk tank top. Her eyes were wide and her lips were swollen, as if she'd been kissing for a long time. Normally, her layered honey-brown hair was smooth and neat, but now it was tangled and wild.

“Luc!” Karen cried out. She looked from Mike to Luc and then back to Mike, who was now staring at Corinthe.

“What the hell are you doing?” Luc heard himself say. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Even his voice sounded slow, distant.

Karen reached out to him. For a moment he focused on her hand, her perfectly manicured pink nails.

Mike sat on the bed with his polo shirt unbuttoned. There was pink lipstick smeared on the side of his chin.

Rage consumed Luc, dizzying, like a hot black tide. It roared through his body and he rocketed forward, grabbed Mike by the collar, and slammed him against the wall hard, driving an elbow against his windpipe. Karen screamed again. There were other voices, too—people shouting his name, a confusion of sounds …

And then a hand on his back: Corinthe, saying, “Wait.”

The sound of her voice and the pressure of her touch pierced the dull fog in his brain, the blur of anger and hurt.

No more fighting. Not worth it. He released his hold on Mike, who slid down the wall and thudded to the ground. Karen immediately crouched down next to him.

“I didn't know you two were still together,” Mike said, wiping the corner of his mouth. “She said—”

Karen cut him off and turned an accusatory stare at Luc.

“What the
hell
are you doing? What are you trying to prove?”

The venom in her voice caught him completely off guard.

“
Prove?
Jesus, Karen. You're my
girlfriend
—”

“Was. Was your girlfriend.” Tears made her eyes shine in the soft light and a lump rose up in his throat. “You promised, Luc. Promised you'd show up on time, promised you'd actually
be
here. I can't do this anymore. You don't want to be with me and we both know it.”

He swallowed. The anger slowly seeped away, leaving a deep hollow in his stomach. And, even deeper than that: A momentary lifting. A sense of relief.

It was only a flash. Then he felt empty again, as though he'd been carved out from inside.

“Karen …” He reached for her. She was everything he thought he wanted. Why couldn't he just love her? “Please.”

“Leave, Luc.” Karen choked back a sob. “Just go home.”

He hesitated. Mike was watching him warily, as though he expected Luc to lunge for him at any second. But Luc just felt tired. Too tired to fight.

“Please,” Karen said. Her voice was strangled.

People had crowded into the hallway, trying to get a look. The girl, Corinthe, was gone. Everyone was deathly quiet but he knew that soon the whispers would begin. Luc pushed through the crowd with more force than was necessary. By Monday, this would be all over school.

Perfect.

He needed to get out of there.

He pushed through the kitchen, avoiding Lily's triumphant gaze. He took the steps two at a time and gulped in lungfuls of cool night air when he burst onto the deck. He doubled over for a second, panting, fighting the sick feeling in his stomach. Jesus. He'd been a first-class asshole. He hadn't seen it coming.

“You okay, dude?” Tyler clapped a hand on Luc's shoulder and laughed. “Looks like you need to take it easy on the brews, man.”

Luc yanked away from Tyler's touch and pushed his way through the people still laughing and partying on the deck. They'd know soon enough that the golden couple had broken up. News like that spread faster than a California wildfire.

As soon as he landed on the boardwalk, he started to run. Luc had no idea where he was going; he just needed to get as far away from everyone as possible.