Havoc: Mayhem Series #4 Page 3

  She’s staring right back at me, and the look on her face is deadly.

  I lock my eyes on the TV, feeling her death glare burrow through the side of my skull. I don’t even want to know what I look like. I’ve gotten no sleep, I probably still smell like armpit, and I’ve cried countless tears while giggling the night away with Mike Madden. I’m guessing that last part is why she currently looks like she’s going to chainsaw me to death in my sleep tonight.

  When she approaches us, every muscle in my body tenses in anticipation of the attitude she’s about to throw at me. But instead of bitching me out for stealing her boyfriend from the other bus—since, in Danica’s world, I’m sure it’s all my fault she woke up alone—she simply sits on the bench beside Mike, leans down to press a kiss against his cheek, and says, “What are you playing?”

  “The new Deadzone,” he answers without peeling his eyes from the screen. He continues landing headshots left and right—an impressive feat considering how much Guinness is probably sloshing around in his stomach—while I stare at Danica like I’m the one who’s drunk.

  She’s being . . . nice? Nice. Did I imagine that look she gave me when she came on the bus?

  When she glances at me, I’m practically cross-eyed with confusion, but she simply grins and twirls thick chunks of Mike’s brown hair around her slender fingers.

  “Are you winning?” she asks him.

  “It’s not really that kind of game . . .”

  “Then how do you play?”

  Her voice, sweeter than pink cotton candy, makes me want to hurl. “Since when do you care about video games?” I ask, and she gives me that I’m-going-to-chainsaw-your-face-off look again. Nope, definitely didn’t imagine it.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Hailey,” she scoffs, her hand coming to rest possessively on the nape of Mike’s neck. “You know how much I love watching you and your brother play.”

  I have some kind of stroke. That’s the only explanation. My jaw drops open, my character gets shot in the head, and my brain does some kind of sputtering thing that leaves my game controller hanging from limp hands. “Say whaaa?”

  Since my twelve-year-old brother and I are now separated by hundreds of miles and won’t see each other until Thanksgiving break, I make it a priority to play games with him online on a regular basis, and two nights ago, we were playing Deadzone Four when Danica burst into my room demanding that I shut it off. It was one o’clock in the morning, but I was apparently slowing down the wifi and it was more important for her to look up manicure designs on Pinterest than it was for me to help my lonely little brother forget about the asshole who’d bullied him in gym class that day.

  My head is tilted to the side like an extremely confused teacup Chihuahua, and Danica gives me another look.

  Keep your mouth shut, her eyes threaten.

  “You used to hate it when I played,” Mike remembers while I’m still trying to recover from my stroke.

  “Did I?” Danica’s eyes glitter with deceit that I hope Mike can see. “That was so long ago. I was such a bitch back then.” When Mike just stares at her, she slides down into his lap and clasps her fingers behind his neck. “Forgive me?”

  Mike dated her for four years. Four years. He should know better than to buy this crap, right? Right?

  Say no, you giant idiot! Push her fake ass off your lap!

  When Mike continues studying her with those big brown eyes of his, she leans in and kisses him. She squirms tight against his body and threads her fingers into his hair, and I roll my eyes and stand up.

  If batting eyelashes and pink lip gloss are all it takes to get under his skin, then those two were made for each other.

  “Alright, well, I’m going to get going.” Ignoring my disappointment in the drummer who made me laugh harder last night than I have in years, I grab my keys from the bench beside me and jingle them in the air while Danica whispers something in Mike’s ear—or does something in Mike’s ear. I don’t even want to know. “Dani, are you coming or what?”

  Mike is the one who pulls away to stare up at me, and I avoid looking at him. The bottles lying everywhere are testament to what it took for him to sort through his feelings for the girl on his lap, but even though he’s had a lot to drink, it hasn’t been nearly enough to excuse letting that two-faced leech suck his face.

  “No,” Danica says, still staring at Mike like he’s a gold-plated banana split. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”

  “You’re leaving?” Mike asks me, and when he shifts Danica off of his lap and attempts to stand, I have to launch forward to keep him from falling.

  Okay, so maybe he is that drunk. Shit . . .

  “I, er . . . yeah. I mean, I was just waiting for Danica, so . . .”

  My eyes drop to my hand, which is pressed tight against the hard curve of Mike’s waist, and when I hastily pull it away, he nearly stumbles forward again. His arm wraps heavily around my shoulders in an attempt to catch himself, and I help him find his balance while ignoring the deadly look that Danica gives me.

  “Mike,” I say, staring up into his big glassy eyes. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “Why are you offering him a ride home?” Danica snaps at me.

  “He’s drunk . . .”

  “And?”

  “And—”

  I’m about to explain some choice phrases like “designated driver” and “decent human being” when Mike interrupts, “Are you trying to hold me up?”

  I lift my gaze to his and watch as an amused smile stretches across his lips.

  I have one hand firmly on his back and the other on his stomach, like I’m some kind of pocket-sized Wonder Woman capable of keeping a guy twice my size on his feet. “You were going to fall,” I reason, ignoring the amusement in his voice.

  “You’re like two feet tall,” he teases with a chuckle.

  “Five feet,” I argue, and when Mike laughs hard, I try not to smile.

  “He’s fine here with me.” Danica’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she has one foot planted forward in an aggressive stance that isn’t lost on me.

  I should stay out of it. Danica will make my life a living hell if I piss her off. And Mike is so not my business.

  Except that I’m the one who got him drunk. And I’m the one who drove Danica here. And I’ll never feel right about it if I leave this innocent man with the she-devil herself when he can barely stand upright.

  My conscience sighs.

  “Don’t you want to take a shower?” I ask Danica, ignoring all sense of self-preservation and instead hitting her weak spot. I slip out from under Mike’s arm and lower my voice so only she can hear. “I mean, don’t you want to wash your hair?”

  Ten minutes later, I’m on the road home with Danica in my passenger seat, and she’s still periodically inspecting the ends of her perfect hair. Mike said he would sleep on the bus, so after rooting him out some carbs and bottled water and repeatedly making him swear he wouldn’t drive, I left.

  I felt like I should thank him for the fun time I had with him last night, or like I should . . . I don’t know, shake his hand or hug him or something. Hanging out with him felt like hanging out with someone I’d been friends with for years, and I secretly want to play Deadzone Five with him again, but he’s Danica’s boyfriend, and all of that felt too weird, so instead, I simply told him he should brush up on his sniping skills, and I left.

  Danica’s goodbye was much more dramatic. A kiss that lasted so long, I waited for her outside the bus.

  “So all you did was play video games all night?” she asks me for the hundredth time as she studies a lock of her penny-colored hair.

  “No, Dani, we had an orgy all night. The opening band joined in. So did some circus performers that were in town. Things got a little weird with the car full of clowns but—”

  “Do you always have to be so annoying?” she complains, shielding her eyes from the sun. Without Mike to impress, she’s gone into full morning-mode Dan
ica, slunk down in her seat with her bare feet up on my dash.

  “I already told you no a thousand times.”

  “You were too friendly with each other this morning,” she accuses.

  “Because I’m like everyone’s kid sister.”

  Danica grunts her acceptance, and I curse the fact that the radio in my car doesn’t work. Right now would be the perfect time to turn it on so that I can’t get dragged into any more conversations about—

  “Well, did he at least say anything about me?”

  After we started drinking and playing Deadzone, not a word. It was like Danica ceased to exist, and the truth is, Mike wasn’t the only one to forget about her. I forgot that I’d brought her along. I forgot about the show. I forgot about the throngs of fans that jumped to the deafening beat of Mike’s drums just a few hours earlier. Instead, I laughed and played games and had an amazing time.

  With Danica’s boyfriend.

  “He wouldn’t shut up about you,” I lie, and when Danica orders me to give her details, I scrape for something to appease her. “He said you’re even prettier now than you were in high school.”

  “He said that?” she asks, straightening in her seat and beaming at me.

  “Yeah,” I answer, surprised that she’s buying it, since she can normally see right through any fibs I try to tell.

  “What else did he say?”

  “Oh, you know . . .” When she won’t stop staring at me, I jump out on a short limb. “He said he had a really good time with you last night.”

  Satisfied, she sits back in her seat and smiles. I smile too, relieved that I no longer have to talk to her, but then she opens her gloss-coated lips again.

  “Last night was amazing.”

  I really don’t want to talk about it. Or hear about it. Or think about it.

  “He’s so much hotter than he was in high school, too. Like, I know you couldn’t tell because of his T-shirt, but oh my God, Hailey, you should see what he’s hiding under there. And he was so fucking good.” She stretches out her body like it’s still aching from the night’s activities. “I’ve never . . . He was never . . .” She starts giggling, and I seriously might need to crash my car into a tree or something. Maybe Danica’s dad would take pity and buy me a new one. “I hate you for making me leave this morning. I could’ve gone a few more rounds.”

  I’m singing outdated pop songs in my head when Danica makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Ugh. I can’t believe he still plays video games though.”

  And like an idiot, I break my vow of silence. “You acted like you didn’t mind.”

  “Of course I acted like I didn’t mind,” she scoffs. “We just started talking again. It’s not like I’m going to start telling him all the things I can’t stand about him.” She shifts in her seat to face me, indignant. “And were you trying to call me out back there? Because I don’t see why you’d want to be mean like that.”

  Me. Mean.

  “I’m just not as good of a liar as you,” I say, and Danica rolls her eyes.

  “Whatever. Keep telling yourself that.”

  I narrow my eyes across the console at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why don’t you figure it out,” she says, busying herself with crawling her feet back up my dash.

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  Her brown eyes swing over to me and harden as she sets both feet firmly back on the floor. “You think you’re so good, Hailey. You think you’re too good to have a fun time with me.”

  “You bossed me around all night . . .”

  “You mean I tried to order you to have fun for once in your life? Tried to get you to jump up and down in the crowd with me? Oh, boo-hoo, Hailey. Cry me a fucking river.”

  I pick at a chip in my foam steering wheel, wondering if she’s right. Was it my own fault I had such a miserable time? Was Danica just trying to get me to have fun?

  “Sorry,” I say, and she grunts.

  “Whatever. I’m not your enemy, Hailey.”

  “I know that . . .” Do I?

  “We’re family.”

  “I know.”

  “We should act like it.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  I’m feeling all sorts of confused when Danica says, “Friends?”

  Friends? With Danica?

  I think back to riding horses with her when we were little girls, to the way we used to braid their manes and pretend they were My Little Ponys. Those are some of my most cherished memories, but the cousin I loved moved away a long time ago, and I haven’t seen her since.

  “Okay,” I say after a while, and Danica gives me a smile before gazing out the passenger window.

  “We should find you a boyfriend,” she says, and even though that is so not happening, I try to stay positive for the sake of our new truce.

  “Maybe.”

  We pass by the college, we pass by the local Starbucks, and we’re close to home when she laughs to herself. “I still can’t believe I ever thought something happened between you and Mike last night.”

  “You know I’d never do something like that to you,” I say, and when she looks over at the sincere expression on my face, she laughs again.

  “And plus he’s a rock star, Hailey.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And you’re just . . .”

  “I’m just what?”

  “You,” she says with another laugh. “You’re just you.”

  Chapter 5

  My truce with Danica looks a little like this: I bake cookies, she eats them. I suggest watching a movie, she picks the movie. I compliment her on her outfit, she offers to help me burn my clothes.

  On Wednesday morning, I dress in calf-high polka-dot rain boots, thrift-shop jeans, an oversized sweater, a bright blue raincoat, a sunshine-yellow scarf that my mom made, and a black knit cap that’s topped by what has to be the world’s biggest, purplest pompom.

  “You really should let me take you shopping,” Danica critiques as I grab my umbrella, and I close the door behind me.

  I have a hectic morning—first, dog walking at the local animal shelter where I’m interning; and then not one, not two, but three intense exams that I am so not prepared for. The whole morning is crazy, and it gets even crazier when I meet Rowan and Dee for our scheduled lunch.

  “Finally!” Dee shouts as soon as I drag my sopping wet self through the college café’s heavy double doors. Her long brown hair is twisted into Hollywood curls, her dark eyes bright as she watches me approach her table. My brow furrows as I attempt to uncoil the sunshine-colored scarf from my neck, and I check the time on a clock on the wall.

  “Am I late? I thought we said—”

  “You’re fine,” she interrupts, standing up to pull my cap off my head as I continue fighting with my boa constrictor of a scarf. “But I’m not.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Rowan gives me a small wave from where she’s sitting, sucking on the oversized straw of an iced coffee, and I wave back as Dee takes my coat and says, “I’M DYINGGG.”

  “Uh?”

  She practically pushes me into a seat across from her, and then she leans across the table. “Last Saturday. After we left. Tell me everything.”

  “There’s not much to tell—” I start, but Dee presses her finger against my lips and shakes her head while tsk, tsk, tsking.

  “Hailey. Hailey. Let me stop you right there, okay? We’re going to be friends, right?”

  All I can manage is a lift of my eyebrow.

  “As my friend, you need to know something about me. I’m practically an old married woman now. I’ve settled down. My scandalous days are behind me. I’ve gone vanilla. I’m balled. I’m chained. I’m—”

  “You’re balled?” Rowan snickers, but Dee’s pleading brown eyes remain glued to the confused expression on my face.

  “I need you to give me details. I want a story. I need the low-down. Give me some juice. I want the—”

  “She
’s had too much caffeine,” Rowan teases, and Dee never breaks eye contact with me as she reaches a hand back and starts batting at her friend.

  “Uh.” I attempt to comb my fingers through my damp short brown curls since they’ve somehow managed to tangle in and around and over themselves. My hand gets stuck, and I wiggle my fingers in the knots as I say, “Well, not much happened. Danica fell asleep, and Mike and I played video games until she woke up.”

  “That’s it?” Dee complains, slumping in her chair. “That’s seriously it? You played video games?”

  I shrug, and in spite of the pout on Dee’s face, Rowan smiles. “What did Mike think of your Deadzone skills?”

  The corners of my mouth tug up at her question. “He was impressed.”

  “Of course he was. Did you two have fun together?”

  Too much fun. I’ve replayed that night in my mind too many times over the past four days, smiling at the jokes that were told or the stupid things that were said or the way Mike’s chocolate-brown eyes brightened when he laughed so hard, they filled with tears. I’ve remembered the way he wiped those tears on his shoulder since his hands were holding his game controller.

  And I’ve remembered earlier: the show. The way he looked at the back of the stage, his messy brown hair tipped with sweat as blue light danced over his shoulders, his neck, his arms. I’ve remembered the way the entire room jumped to the beat of his drumsticks as they pounded an unforgiving rhythm against his drums. I’ve remembered the pulsing of the club, and the way Mike’s eyes lifted at breaks in the songs to take it all in.

  And then, I’ve remembered that he’s Danica’s boyfriend, and I’ve focused on that, and focused on that, and focused on that.

  “Yeah,” I finally answer Rowan. “It was a lot of fun.”

  “Mike’s a sweetheart, right?” she asks with that bright smile still shining on her face.

  “Yeah—”

  “And hot, right?” Dee asks, her smile matching Rowan’s. I stare back and forth between them.

  “I guess?”

  I’ve never been one to gossip about boys. And I’m not about to start with the guy who is banging my cousin.