She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) (27 page)

Rob shakes his head and refocuses. He runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Of course.” His voice squeaks, “You’re coming back though, right? This isn’t the part where you run off and go get high and all depressed and shit?”

I smirk as I dig his keys out of my pocket. “Honestly? I’m not too disappointed that you’re my old man. I mean, I thought you were a piece of shit a few months ago, but you’ve sort of grown on me.”

He grabs my shoulder hard and squeezes it. “Ha. And I thought you were a smart-ass brat, but I guess you’ve grown on me, too.”

“You’re the only one on my team now. Better gear up, because I’m a fucking mess, Pop.” I pull the keys out of my pocket.

“Pop?” he yells as I walk through the gallery and out to the car. I don’t turn around to show him my grin.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Juliet

Rocco drives me to the little beach town where Frank grew up and is now buried.

He points me to the grave and kisses my cheek. I promise to text him when I need to be picked up, and he drives away. Rocco’s not dealing with his emotions well these days.
No wonder Pooja thinks he blames her.
God knows he needs her now more than ever.

I walk through the headstones and look at the dates of the deceased. Nobody died as young as Frank. It’s easy to spot his grave because the dirt is still mounded, and his headstone glimmers.
Francis Patrick O’Leary
.

I think about Frank under the cold December ground. Tears roll down my cheeks. I pull my jacket tighter and wrap my arms to my body. The wind threatens to blow my hat away, so I pull it further over my ears.
Oh, Frank.

I shut my eyes and say a prayer—the same prayer I say for Justine.
Dear God. Please let him rest in peace and have everything he’s ever wanted. Please tell him that I miss him.

The ground crunches behind me as footsteps approach. I smell his aftershave before he speaks.

“Hi,” Chase says to my back.

“Hi,” I answer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

I glance back at him. The sun shines down on us, and Chase shields his eyes as he squints back at me. He shaved and got a haircut. “I missed the funeral yesterday when I went to your apartment. I felt I had to see it,” I say.

“Me, too. I feel like shit for missing the ceremony.”

“You should.”
I sound like my mother.

“I do. Satisfied?”

I flinch at the tone of his voice. He turns his back to me.

I want to yell at him about Sara, but I remember Pooja’s comments about Chase’s shakiness. “I’m sorry,” I say to his back. “Let’s not fight here.”

I go to him and wrap my arms around him. He spins and tightens his arms around me. I sag, full of sadness—for Frank, for Chase, for Ben, and selfishly, for me. I sniffle into Chase’s coat and try to bury myself in his warmth.

Chase’s tears wet my cheek. “I don’t know what to do.” It’s the same thing he said to me the night his grandmother died, the night we were together.

“Me neither.” My voice shakes as I pull away and sit next to Frank’s headstone. The ground is frozen solid, but I don’t care. I pull my coat low to cover my hips and sit on it, bend my legs, and hide my face in my arms. I don’t want to look at Chase, but when he sits down next to me, I rest my head on his shoulder. Neither of us say anything.

I’m tired of feeling sad. I’m tired of the world fucking with me. When I look to the sky and see the sunshine streaming through the grey winter clouds, I remember Pooja’s words.
It’s time.

I sit up and twist toward Chase. The bags underneath his red-rimmed eyes drain the purple color from them.
He really is lost
. I don’t want to be lost.

I push his hair over his ear and meet his gaze. “Do you know they say twins are connected?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “I’ve heard that.”

“She was trying to save me when she died. I couldn’t save her—”

“It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t know though. He doesn’t know what I told Gloria before she died. “It is, Chase. She was protecting me. She took my place and saved me from her killer.” I tell Chase about the mall, Justine disappearing, the empty part of me that I can’t seem to fill since she died.

He listens. With tears in his tired eyes, he listens. Then he holds me the way I held him after Gloria died.

“How are you so strong?” he says quietly, and I’m not sure he wants an answer.

With my face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, I shake my head. “I’m not, Chase. I wasn’t. I’m trying to be now though.”

Then it hits me.

I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to turn Chase into Ben. This is my history, my life. As bad as it was, it’s part of who I am. Just like the shooting at Sheridan. I pull away from Chase and stand. He follows, but I take a step back. The distance helps me continue as I search for words.

“Ever since Justine died, I’ve been trapped in the grave with her. Maybe because we’re twins. Maybe because she was my best friend. I don’t know. But when I was buried there with her, nobody tried to pull me out. My parents let me die with her, you know? The only air I got was from dancing. So I danced my ass off.”

Chase harrumphs and grins.

“Then I met Ben.” Chase stiffens next to me, but I continue, “He was so out of the grave, up in the world doing his thing. He was like the sunshine in the dark sky, you know, beaming down at me.”

I smile thinking of Ben, his goodness, his glow. Chase relaxes and grins back at me, taking my hand.

“He found me in that hole in the ground, and he offered me a boost, but still, he couldn’t pull me out.” Chase squeezes my fingers, and I shift to face him. “Then I met you.”

He stills.

“Ben? He likes me. He tolerates me. Maybe he loves me, but he thinks I’m crazy and…what’s the word he used that night in the lounge?
Exhausting
?”

“He called you
driven
and
motivated
, too,” Chase adds and touches my knee.

“He never really got me. I didn’t realize that until I met you. With you, I feel understood. You accepted me. You told me that I wasn’t crazy. I thought you would be the one who’d finally pull me out of that hole.”

Chase opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I hold my hand up to stop him. “With this horrible stuff happening, though, it makes me see. You’re not the one who’s going to pull me out of the grave. You’re stuck in your own hole. We’re similar that way. But we’re different, too, because I’m trying so hard, Chase. I’m going to keep trying to get out of my grave.” The sun beats down, and I pull off my hat to get some air.
It’s time
, I hear Pooja say.

“I think about those parts of you that I love—your passion, your creativity, the way you loved your grandmother and how loyal you are to your friends. I think about how you knew me for a day,
one day
, and found me a ballet studio because you knew I needed it the way you need art. I think about how, with one look, one word, you make me feel like I’m the center of your universe. Nobody’s ever made me feel like that, Chase.”

“Juliet—”

“But all that great stuff about you—those amazing purple eyes, the train station, the night we shared—it’s overwhelming, but it’s not enough. I want to claw myself out of this. I’m
going
to claw myself out, but I can’t save you, too. What I’ve learned since you, since Gloria, since Frank, is that nobody can save us. Not Ben. Not Sara. We need to save ourselves.”

I step away again as Chase falls to the ground next to Frank’s grave.

He hides his head on his bent knees. “I love you, Chase. You’re the first person I’ve loved for the right reasons, and I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But I’m not staying in the grave. And I’m not pulling you out of your hole either.”

When I walk away, I half expect him to follow me, to protest, to argue—anything. But he doesn’t.

Maybe that means he listened.

Chase

I sit at Frank’s graveside for hours, digesting what Juliet said, thinking about how beautiful she looked saying it. I feel sorry for her, for me, for Frank. I’m a fucking basket case by the time I leave and drive back to the city.

At home, I fall into my bed, fully clothed, shoes and all, and don’t wake up until the following morning when someone’s banging on the front door.
Juliet,
I automatically think. I race down the stairs.

It’s not Juliet though, it’s Ben.

I haven’t spoken to him since the night I spent with Juliet. He’s growing a beard, but other than that he looks like he’s back to normal, physically at least.

“C. C.,” Ben says.

I open the door wider and invite him in, but he waves me out. “I don’t want to come up.” I step outside and follow him to the sidewalk. “I just stopped by to say I’m sorry about your grandmother, man. I would have come to the funeral, but with the surgery and stuff I couldn’t make it.” He grabs me into a hug.

“Thanks. Of course I understand. How’s your shoulder?”

Ben pulls his arm back, and before I can react, he punches me in the face.

“Fuck, Ben!” The pain moves from my jaw to my ear, and my cheek numbs.

Ben shakes his arm. “It’s feeling better, thanks. That’s for stealing my girlfriend.”

In a split second, he balls his fist and hits me again, this time in the gut. My stomach rises to my throat as I double over. “Shit,” I sputter, spitting onto the ground.

“And that’s for being a dick to her after.”

I straighten and lift my arms to defend myself. “Are you done now, asshole? Jesus Christ.”

“I’m done.” His tone is aggravated but his eyes relax. “Are you going to hit me back? Is this going to turn into a fight?”

“No. I deserved that.” I cough, spitting, looking for blood or teeth, but nothing falls out of my mouth.

“That was my bad arm, too.” He brags as he circles it, but he grimaces and starts to walk away.

“Gee, great,” I mutter, scooping a handful of snow and rubbing it across my cheek. Feeling the pain satisfies me on some level.

“Get your shit together, C. C.,” he yells over his shoulder.

I stare behind him. I don’t want to watch another person—another
good
person in my life—walk away. “Hey, Ben,” I call out.

He stops and turns around.

“You want to grab a coffee or something?” He stares as I walk toward him. I ready myself for another punch.

He crosses his arms over his chest, which I interpret as a sign he won’t hit me again.

I shift my jaw, making sure it still works. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry for going behind your back with Juliet. I’m trying to get my shit together, really, I am. I could use a friend.” I’m such a girl. If I ever said that to Paulie or the guys, they’d probably hit me again. But I know Ben isn’t like that.

Ben’s shoulders relax and his hands drop to his sides. “Coffee sounds good.”

I run back to the apartment to grab my coat. We walk uptown through the city crowd. I’ve always hated Manhattan during the holiday season, especially going toward Midtown. Ben doesn’t seem to mind the people as we make our way to one of the million coffee shops. I open the door for Ben and feel a pang in my side from his punch. I wonder what the bruise will look like.

“Did you come to the city just to hit me?” I ask as we wait in line.

“Jules forced me to come back.”

“Forced you?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know how she can be. She called me at home and said I’d better get my ass back to New Jersey. I’m staying at Rocco’s for the weekend with her and Pooja.”

“What’s she up to?”
Does she still want Ben?

Ben turns to face me. “She’s hell bent on getting Sheridan open again. She wants us all back there together to honor Frank. ‘So that fucker Cameron doesn’t win again,’ she says. Have you been checking your school email?”

“I haven’t.”

“They want to keep Sheridan closed for the year. They’re trying to spread us over campus for next semester. Megan’s trying to finish exams, and they have her tripled up in a double in Mitchell.”

Mitchell Hall is clear across campus at the business college. “Mitchell? Shit.” As I’ve wallowed in self-pity, I’ve forgotten about the others. I’ve ignored their calls and texts.
They probably all hate me
, which makes sense since I’m an asshole and deserve to be hated.

“Megan’s the only one on campus, and she’s trying to stay out of the spotlight. But Juliet threatened the others. She told them it’s Sheridan or nothing. She’s even gone to the press, telling them we won’t go back to campus until our dorm opens.” The media has been all over Sheridan since the shooting. “Everyone in the basement is on board, except you and Pooja.”

“Pooja doesn’t want to go back?”

“Pooja’s convinced the whole thing—Frank, what Juliet went through—is her fault.”

I frown. “What do you mean, ‘what Juliet went through’?” My heart pounds as we make our way to the counter. Ben orders a tall dark roast, black. “Make that two,” I say and shove a twenty at the barista. “Ben. What happened in that room?”

Ben shifts and rubs his beard. “Maybe you should ask her.” When our order is called, Ben grabs our coffee and walks to a table by the window.

“I’m asking you. Tell me, Ben,” I demand as I follow him. He ignores me, so when he sits, I slap my hand onto the table to get his attention. The place is filled with moms with strollers and lattes, who give me the evil eye. I refrain from telling them all to fuck off.

Ben motions for me to sit and then moves closer and lowers his voice. “He had a gun to Pooja’s head and Juliet wanted to save her. She tried to get his focus away from Pooja. She tried to…she offered…herself.” Ben can’t say it, but I know what he’s referring to.