Slow Burn Part 34

Johnny holds my cold hand in his warm one on the short ride there. I'm grateful for the comfort, but I can't help feeling a little sad, remembering a time when I could just crawl into his lap, and thinking I was the only one welcome there. Now...just sitting next to him feels strange.

Misha's house is an older neighborhood, a lot like mine. If we didn't have the exact address, we still would have been able to figure out which house is his-the pale blue two story with all the cars parked in front of it. The garage door is open and light spills it , illuminating the people hanging out inside, and in the front yard.

At first glance, the party seems to be much more tame than the Leclare parties I've been to so far. The music's much quieter, and the kids seem to be more mellow, and less obviously drunk. Everyone notices our arrival. It's kind of hard not to, with these guys. The murmurings that begin are not all admiring.

Inside the house, it's standing room only. I'm sandwiched between the guys, but I pop free so I can search for Heather. I just want to find my friend and leave. I recognize a few people here and there, and I stop to ask them if they've seen Heather. One of them-a guy with long brown hair named Ricky-tries to tell me something, but he's giggling too hard to form a coherent sentence. Finally, he points towards the kitchen.

There's so many people in the way I can barely move a foot in any direction. Thank G.o.d for Mack. He just starts moving towards the kitchen, and anyone in the way moves with him-whether they want to, or not.

A few seconds later, he reappears, Heather in tow. I am so relieved to see her-until I notice her droopy red eyes.

"What the h.e.l.l, Heather?!" I yell at her. "Are you freaking stoned?"

She avoids looking at me, instead focusing on smoothing down her messy red blonde hair. "What are y'all doing here?"

"Saving your a.s.s," I snap at her. I notice Johnny glaring at a couple of guys who are watching us, and I grab Heather's arm. "Let's get out of here."

She pulls away, looking anxious. "But Sloane is..." She trails off, biting her lip.

Dean is suddenly standing next to us. "Where is she?" he asks, locking eyes with Heather.

Heather shakes her head. She points towards a dark hallway. "She went into a room with Misha's brother a while ago. I tried to stop them...Misha grabbed me and dragged me into the kitchen, and he-"

Dean takes off for the back rooms, his expression grim. After a brief hesitation, I follow him. I'm hoping to avoid a fight, especially since I'm responsible for bringing the guys here. Um, judging by the look on Dean's face, I might have to jump on his back to keep him from killing someone. Even then, I can totally picture Dean swatting me off like a pesky fly.

We open two doors (one is a bathroom-occupied by a miserably sick person who did not appreciate the interruption) before Dean finds one locked. Without hesitation, he puts a shoulder against it and slams into it. The door crashes open.

I just manage to squeeze in ahead of him. It's not good. Sloane, wearing nothing but a thong, is lying on a bare mattress on the floor. A beefy tatted-up guy is all over her, and....

The next thing I know, I'm being picked up and set aside like a toy. Dean grabs the guy off Sloane and throws him against a wall. Beefy Tattoo Guy lands upside down, on his head, groaning. Whoa...now I see why no one wants to p.i.s.s Dean off.

Dean barely spares him a glance. He crouches down in front of Sloane, turning her face to the light to examine her. Her dark eyes are gla.s.sy, her expression disturbingly slack. There are red marks all over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I quickly look away, sick to my stomach.

Dean is also disgusted. He straightens from his crouch. "Get up," he commands, his voice hard.

At first, Sloane is unresponsive-and I start panicking, thinking she's dead. Then her arms move, and she languidly sits up. Her head is hanging at an awkward angle, her glossy dark hair hanging in her face. She focuses on me, frowning.

"What the h.e.l.l is she doing here?" she mumbles. Like that's important!

Beefy Tattoo Guy is trying to get to his feet. "Dude-what the f.u.c.k, man?!" He glares at Dean.

Dean ignores him. He takes his s.h.i.+rt off in one swift move, and tosses it to Sloane.

Oh, d.a.m.n.

Beefy Tattoo Guy and I stare at him, but for completely different reasons. Dean's arms, his chest, his abs...all cut, ripped, chiseled perfection. I...what the...those powerful muscles...everywhere...smooth flesh over carved muscles...scars jagged across tanned skin...homina homina homina...

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?" the guy growls, looking ready to lunge.

Dean turns to him, eyes gleaming in the dim light, gorgeous muscles tensed. "Shut up."

Beefy Tattoo Guy stays put.

Sloane is fumbling with Dean's s.h.i.+rt, snickering. I stomp over to her to help get her dressed. I'm not gentle. When she jerks her head to the side to glare at me, I glare back. Yeah, that hair pull was intentional.

I get Dean's s.h.i.+rt on her, and it covers her decently enough. Even though she doesn't deserve it, I grab her things and stuff them in my purse. Then Dean pulls her to her feet, and with a nod at me, he hauls her out of the room. He's still s.h.i.+rtless, of course.

Holy s.h.i.+t! Look at the muscles rippling in his back when he moves.

Not that I would notice that at a time like this.

The situation outside is bad. Misha and some of his friends are trying to get in Johnny's and Mack's faces. I can tell by the way Johnny's skin is flushed under his perpetual tan that he's in danger of losing it. He wants to fight-his eyes are bright with antic.i.p.ation. So not good.

"Dean," I say urgently.

Dean pushes Sloane toward me, and goes to head off the confrontation before it gets really ugly. Sloane stumbles into me, and has the nerve to shove me out of her way. I shove her back. Heather, who has just made her to us, gasps and moves to support Sloane. Just great.

I turn back to the guys, now standing in the middle of a circle of gawkers. A chant of "fight, fight" starts up. Two girls move in front of us, blocking my view.

"OMG, who is that?" one of them says loudly. "Daaamn, he's hot!"

I can't see what's going on, and I can't hear over the shouting of the other kids. I get my phone out, ready to call the cops, but then I notice a guy feeling up an oblivious Sloane. I've got to get her and Heather out of here.

I grab both their hands, and start towing them toward the front of the house. It's next to impossible! No one's moving because they're all watching the soon-to-be fight. I am so frustrated, I could scream. If these a.s.sholes don't get out of the way, I'm about ready to drop down and start stabbing people in the foot with this plastic fork I've found! Okay, I'm panicking. It's humid, and there are bodies pressing up against me at all sides, and... Wait, where did Sloane and Heather go? They were squished together right next to me a second ago!

I'm in the grips of a paralyzing claustrophobia when Mack finds me. He pulls me out of the sea of bodies, and crushes me protectively to his chest. I exhale in relief. Mack's got me, and no one would dare mess with him.

He practically carries me over to the others. There's Heather and Sloane! The guys form a tight formation around us, and we move as one unit toward the door, amid taunts and shouts of "Leclare p.u.s.s.ies!"

"Adler, get your a.s.s over here!" Mack suddenly bellows.

Where is Nick? Oh, there he is, sitting in a chair with a beer in his hand, happily gazing at the gyrating girl b.u.t.t in his face. He snaps out of his trance at Mack's voice, and hastily jumps to his feet.

I don't breathe until we're outside, and the guys are hustling us to Nick's Range Rover. I try to stop to see who's calling my name as we leave, but Johnny just tosses me over his shoulder. Something just dropped out of my purse. I think it was Sloane's phone. Good.

I tell Dean to drop Heather and me off at my house. I have a few things to say to my best friend, but I'm not going to do it in front of witnesses. I'm so p.i.s.sed at her, I can't form coherent thoughts-there's just this fuzzy white static in my head, and my heart is racing from the adrenaline rush. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.

I can't stop thanking the guys for their help. But Sloane-gr, I wanna smack the smirk off her beautiful face. As Heather and I are getting out, she has the nerve to tell Heather to text her later! What.

"You! You stay away from her, or I swear to G.o.d, I'll kick your a.s.s!" I snap, lunging forward to get in her face.

"Jule!"

Heather grabs me around the waist, and pulls me back out. Sloane's grandly presenting me the finger! Red mist settles over my vision. Oh, no...

"Drive!" Johnny shouts at Dean, seeing my face. He thumps the back of the driver's seat. "Go, man!"

I watch the Range Rover swerve away from the curb. Like I'm going to chase them, or something. I whirl around and glare at Heather.

"Now do you see?!" I snap at her. "She was just using you! I told you not to-"

"Oh, just stop it!"

Heather just screamed at me. She never screams. I stare at her in shock. She's looking at me like she hates me, like I've betrayed her somehow.

"I don't want to hear it, anymore, Jule! I'm so sick you trying to tell me what to do, and who I can see, and-and acting like I'm such a mess, when-look at your life! You're not my mother, you're my friend-and right now, you're not even that!"

"Heather-"

She pulls away from me. "No! I can't listen to your stupid little lectures and I-told-you-so's. Do not try to make me feel guilty about this. I'm seventeen-not forty. I want to have fun! I want to take risks!" She folds her arms over her chest, and looks at me derisively. "But you go ahead, and live in your safe little bubble-because G.o.d forbid you should make a mistake, and screw another one of Johnny's friends!"

I gasp, horrified that Heather would throw that in my face-and at the top of her lungs, on the street in front of my house. The silence stretches on as I wait for her to take it back.

She doesn't. She starts walking away. "Do me a favor," she calls over her shoulder. "Lose my number!"

Oh, my G.o.d. That's the drugs talking, right?

I should go after her, but my feet feel like they're glued to the ground. I watch Heather's long-legged stride take her further and further away from me. I can't believe she said those things. She would have done less damage if she'd punched me in the face.

What the h.e.l.l did I do, other than try to look out for her?! How can she not see that she's slowly going in over her head? And that b.i.t.c.h, Sloane-Heather and I never fought like this until she came into the picture. I don't know what to do. I guess...I'll give us both a couple of days to cool off. This was brutal.

There's nothing to do but wave to my elderly neighbor (who's peeping at me through the curtains of her front window), and trudge back into my house. It's after one in the morning, but I have a feeling I'm not going to be getting any sleep tonight.

I'm right. I lie awake in bed, mentally replaying everything that happened, images of Heather, Johnny, and a s.h.i.+rtless Dean swirling in my head.

Chapter 36.

All day Sat.u.r.day, I keep checking my phone to see if I've got anything from Heather. Cerise has been over at Dad's all day, and I'm starting to think maybe she lives here now. That would explain the new flowered loveseat, and all the knick-knacks in the kitchen. I'm not going to say anything until one of them brings it up.

I want to go over to see Mich.e.l.le, but she hasn't responded to any of my texts, or phone calls. Dad tells me he hasn't seen her since that day at the hospital. He's worried about her, too, but says that we should give her some s.p.a.ce right now. He wants to drive to the mountains to get a Christmas tree. I thought he was allergic!

It's really painful to watch my dad make a fool out of himself trying to impress his new girlfriend. I nearly die of embarra.s.sment for him when he tries to scale a fence, and falls on his a.s.s. Cerise and I have to help him back to the car, poor guy.

The next day is better. I take my turkey and avocado subs, and giant bowl of egg salad to Mack's. Lorena's there, and she's brought rainbow-colored cupcakes. They're almost too pretty to eat. We discuss our favorite eighties movies (Lorena loves them, too!), and if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I'm talking to Heather. Well, not really, but she's pretty cool.

I still haven't heard from my best friend, but on the upside, Nick starts talking to me again. I think he knows I need cheering up, and though we're a still bit awkward with each other...well, it's a start. I try to subtly inquire about him and Sara, but judging from his responses, she chickened out on telling him how she feels. Nick is so clueless. It's so cute how he has no idea about Lala's crush on him, either. I swear, that girl is just gonna walk up and plant one on him one day-she's way braver than Sara. h.e.l.l, she's braver than I am. It'd be the kiss of death for Nick, though. If Mack ever found out, he'd kill him.

It's Monday, and I still haven't heard from Heather. I've tried texting her, but I get nothing back. Nothing from Mich.e.l.le, either. G.o.d, I hope she's okay. I hope they're both okay.

Depressed, I take my lunch to a different table in the cafeteria. I don't want to be anywhere near Sloane if I can help it. I think I might hate her more than Kara. No, I still hate Kara more.

I sit there eating my delicious chicken salad, feeling sorry for myself and loser-ish-when a tray drops onto the s.p.a.ce in front of me. I look up.

It's Dean.

My mouth drops open. Dean ignores my surprise and climbs into the seat across from me. He casually begins to eat burger. I am too confused to say anything to him.

We sit there in silence, eating our lunches. Our eyes meet once, and I give him a grateful smile. He smiles back, and we go back to eating and not talking.

It's weird, but sometimes I think our enjoy our silences than most of the conversations I've had in my life.

Sat.u.r.day-the day of the talent show at the Town Center mall. Dean's helping me transport the dance props from the rec to the mall. We've just loaded up his truck when Eileen Worth calls me in tears.

"I hadn't checked my e-mail in a few days," she says in a confusing jumble of words. "Then, just this morning I went on and-and I saw the message from Teri, the events coordinator at the mall. They're canceling the show because not enough people signed up!"

"Oh, no!" I cry, clapping a hand over my mouth. "The kids are going to be so disappointed!"

"I know! I've really messed up! There has to be something we can do. Maybe..." Eileen trails off, sniffling.

Think, Juliet!

"You know what-I'm my way over to the mall right now," I say, glancing at Dean, who is watching me intently. "Maybe I can talk to her, and explain our situation. Don't call anyone yet until you talk to me!"

"Okay, good luck!"

I hang up with Eileen, and quickly relay the problem to Dean. Seconds later, we're racing to the mall. I'm biting my nails the whole way there. I can't let the kids down-they've been working so hard for this, and they're so excited about performing in front of a big audience. I'm prepared to beg, plead, and offer up my first born if I have to.

I vent out loud, and Dean offers support in that silent Dean way of his. We get to the mall in record time, and he pulls up in front of the entrance. I jump out of the truck, and turn back to him. "You aren't coming in?"

Dean's got his phone out. Looking down at it, he says distractedly, "You go ahead. I'll work on a backup plan."

Backup plan? What kind of plan can he put together in-oh, my G.o.d-two and a half hours?! c.r.a.p!

I go skidding into the mall's office. The events coordinator lady isn't there, but I talk to a sympathetic older woman who's manning the office. I let the tears fall, but the woman continues to shake her head.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie, but they're holding a blood drive in that s.p.a.ce right now. It's supposed to last all day."

My hopes plummet down to my toes. "Okay, well, is there another place that you know of that we could use? Please, please, please! These kids have worked so hard, for months! They won't understand if-"

"Even if we did have a s.p.a.ce available, I would have to have it cleared at least a day in advance. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

I stand there for ten more minutes, pleading with her, but she's immovable. Finally, I have to concede defeat. I trudge out of the office, my shoulders slumped. So much for pulling a miracle out of my a.s.s.

Maybe we could hold it at the rec. No, we don't have a room big enough, and it has to be somewhere where we can make it fairly dark. I'd better call Eileen, and see if she can come up with any ideas.

We brainstorm over the next few minutes. Eileen teaches at a dance studio, but of course they have recitals all day. We discuss alternate venues-maybe another studio-but we'll probably have to end up postponing it to different day. We agree to call everywhere until we find a place. Right after I hang up with her, I get a text from Dean asking me to meet him out front.

"Hey," he says when I climb into the pa.s.senger seat. "Do you think you can move the time to three? I have a place, but we need to set it up."

"What?!" I swivel my whole body around to face him. "Are you serious? Where?"