Chapter Seventeen

"You're going to the lake tonight, right?" I ask Gemma on Friday.

She stops walking. "You're going?"

It was only after getting my stitches fixed yesterday that I decided that I should go. Dr. Kilmer told me all about his teenage years of partying as he tied my skin back together. My jealousy over my middle-aged doctor's youth became the motivation I needed to decide.

"Elliott invited me."

Gemma grins. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I love him. What are you going to wear?"

I glance at my jeans and purple cardigan. "This?"

She scowls, shutting down the suggestion. "I'm coming over after school."

Gemma takes a sip from a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She and Nishi have been meeting up at the cafe down the street before school every morning this week. I'm convinced they're doing it on purpose, so Elliott and I will have the drive to school alone.

Nothing has happened between us since our kiss at the gym on Tuesday. Not even a brush of hands. I'm starting to think I might die if he doesn't kiss me again soon, which, when I think about it, makes me want to slap myself.

"Rose!"

I peek around Gemma's shoulder at the sound of Elliott's scratchy voice. He's dressed in baggy jeans and a blue denim jacket that brightens his irises.

"Pick you up at eight?" he asks.

I grin. "Sounds good."

"Cool."

He doesn't linger. Gemma hits my shoulder as he walks away, and I hit her back.

After school, Gemma stays true to her promise to follow me home.

"Hi, Mr. Berman!"

My father absolutely adores Gemma, especially after learning that she was the only one who stuck around after what happened in calculus class last year.

"Gemma!" my dad exclaims, pulling her in for a hug. "How are you?"

"Better than ever. Rose is letting me take her to a party tonight."

He examines the desperate smile on my face. "You are?"

"Please," I beg. "I'll be back before eleven, and I won't leave Gemma's side."

Gemma flashes her best puppy dog eyes, and to my surprise, my father agrees.

"Thank you!" I squeal.

Gemma drags me upstairs. She tears apart my closet as I watch, not daring to step between her and the mountain of clothes.

"We need to go shopping." She holds up one of my tanks with disgust. I snatch it from her.

"Hey! I like my clothes."

She picks up an orange floral blouse that I haven't worn in years. It's the same color as a traffic cone.

"You like this?"

"Fine," I concede. "That one is bad."

Gemma holds a lacy green skirt up to my waist. It's two sizes too small for my hips.

"The last time I wore that was to my bat mitzvah."

She tosses it across the room. An hour later, Gemma finally decides on an outfit: high waisted jeans, a floral crop top and a pair of white Doc Martens. If not for the fresh bandage wrapped around my right hand, I might look like a normal seventeen-year-old.

"Now, hair and makeup."

The feeling of the brush drifting across my eyelids gives me goose bumps.

"You could really do this, you know," I say as she paints my face in foundation. "Like, as a job."

She shakes her head. "My mom would literally die before she'd let that happen."

Mrs. Shao is strict, and her daughter's career choice is of the utmost importance to her. With the family business losing money, they've been warning Gemma for months about their dependence on her.

"Have you thought about telling her about Nishi?"

Gemma stiffens. I've been out as bisexual to my father since freshman year, but Gemma doesn't have the same luxury.

"I've thought about it, yeah, but I don't want to be homeless. The worst part is that she asks me every day if I have a boyfriend yet."

"Maybe you can really slowly introduce her to the idea?" I suggest. "Like, casually bring up how hot Zendaya is?"

"Yeah," she whispers, letting out a long sigh. "I'll think about it."

She finishes my makeup and guides me to the bathroom mirror. The gold glitter brings out the green in my eyes. A tint of blush highlights the upper part of my cheek.

"It's so natural," I say, awestruck. "Thank you."

She beams. Her phone screen lights up with five texts from Nishi.

"Go," I insist. "I don't want you to be late for your date."

"I'll see you at the party?"

I nod, lingering in the mirror even after she's gone. A shaky breath rises and falls inside of my lungs when I think about seeing Elliott tonight. He's the textbook definition of a ticking time bomb. There's no predicting what might happen at the lake. I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb next to him—rumors and gossip clinging to us like glue. But staring into the mirror at a reflection I like, one where I'm strong and effortless, I'm more confident than I have been in a long while.

Tonight, I am beautiful. Tonight, I'm unstoppable.

Right on time, Elliott's car pulls to the front of my house. He has a tiny razor cut on his chin. The nick destroys his perfect facade, but I like the flaw.

"Hey," he says. "Ready?"

"Sure."

I buckle my seatbelt before Elliott takes off down the street, instantly coasting over the speed limit. He lights a cigarette and dangles it between his lips.

"Most of the football team is going tonight."

He means Harris will be there. My foot taps anxiously against the floor of the car.

"He won't go near you." Elliott's voice is stern.

"What about Maddy?"

"What about her?"

"Is she going to be there?"

He holds the cigarette out the window. "Probably."

Great.

We turn onto an unmarked dirt road. A few cars follow behind us, some of which I recognize from the Dekalb parking lot. Elliott takes a sharp right turn, and the lake house comes into view, illuminated by headlights. The house is three stories, towering as high as the oak trees around it. Fairy lights and the golden glow of a bonfire light our path. Elliott parks in a patch of gravel on the side of the house. Next to his car, a group of freshmen sit in the back of a blue Ford truck, chugging beer and laughing.

"Ready?" he prompts.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

I step outside. The humid air curls my bangs into frizzy ringlets. I spot Gemma and Nishi hanging out near a beer pong table. Elliott trails behind me. He stops every other step to talk to people I don't know.

"We're about to take shots!" Gemma shouts. "You want in?"

Elliott grabs the shot glass from Gemma's hand without hesitating.

I freeze. The last time I took a shot was the night of Elliott's party. Harris could be lurking anywhere, watching me from the shadows.

"Rose?" Gemma questions.

I pick up a glass before I can overthink it. A few other senior girls hanging around the table join us. We clink our glasses and down the vodka, which tastes like straight rubbing alcohol. I wince as the liquid burns my throat.

A long-haired boy, dressed in an oversized tie-dyed sweatshirt, approaches Gemma. His face is littered with piercings.

"Beer pong?" he suggests.

Gemma turns to face the rest of the us. Elliott gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Gemma, Nishi, Elliott, and I form one team. Four guys I don't recognize from school, including the one in the tie dye, challenge us from the other side of the table.

Elliott nudges me. "You're up first."

I step forward and throw the ping pong ball, expecting the worst possible outcome. To my surprise, the ball bounces once and lands in a cup. Gemma, Nishi, and Elliott applaud, and I grin from ear to ear. The long-haired boy drinks. Then, he throws the ball. It lands in a cup.

My turn to drink. The beer is weak compared to the shot. Much easier to get down.

The match is tied by the time it's my turn again. The ball hits the target. My opponent reciprocates. We both drink.

"Damn, Rose," Nishi snickers. "You're good at this."

Around me, the trees start to blur together into one giant mass of green and brown. I lean into Elliott's ear.

"I think I'm drunk."

He tilts his chin, concerned. "Good drunk or bad drunk?"

"Good," I affirm.

At least, I think it's good. I'm not so worried about running into Harris anymore, so that must be a good thing. Elliott guides our group away from the beer pong table. Around us, people from school wade in and out of the lake. The moonlight, silver and sparkling, reflects off of it.

Elliott asks, "Do you want to swim?"

I open my mouth to say no, of course not, but I pause before I do. That's not what an unstoppable person would say. An unstoppable person would jump into the lake without hesitation.

"Why not?" I respond, much to Gemma and Elliott's surprise.

I grab Gemma's hand, who grabs Nishi's and then Elliott's, then drag them all to the edge of the water. The boys in the lake have their shirts off, and most of the girls are in nothing but a bra and underwear.

"One second," I tell Gemma before pulling my shirt over my head.

She opens her mouth, watching in shock as I toss the cloth into the sand. I shiver in my purple bralette, and I debate removing my shorts, but I'm not that drunk. Elliott's eyes widen when I turn around, and I'm thankful it's dark outside, so he can't see me blush.

"How much did you drink again?" Gemma asks.

I shush her before dipping my toes in the lake. The frigid water sends a shiver up my spine, but it's refreshing compared to the heat of the alcohol burning inside of me. Gemma and Nishi sprint into the water holding hands and laughing hysterically.

"Come in, Rose!" she shouts.

I run in deeper toward my friends, letting the lake water consume me, and it feels like magic. Elliott wades in but stops when he's only knee-deep.

"Come on," I plead, splashing him. "It feels awesome."

He laughs but doesn't move. Oh. Our conversation from the drive to Savannah. He told me about his miserable experience on the swim team.

"Shit, I forgot. You don't like to swim."

"I wasn't going to let that stop you."

I splash him again. He splashes back, which makes me laugh a little too loudly. I clasp my hand over my mouth to shut myself up.

"You're definitely drunk." Elliott sounds thoroughly amused.

My gaze flickers back and forth between his eyes and the moon. Both are full, beautiful, and all consuming. Elliott reaches out and grabs my hand with his own. His skin is smooth and soft against mine beneath the cold water. His shirt, soaked through, sticks to the curves of his body. He's a marble statue in the moonlight.

Suddenly, I'm consumed by the craving that I've been suppressing all week.

I stand up, dripping lake water, and lean into him for support.

"I think we should get out of here," I say.

The words leave my mouth before I realize it. I expect Elliott to laugh at me, but he doesn't.

His lips turn into a teasing smile. "My house or yours?"

My father is at work until the morning. Nobody is home.

"Mine," I whisper.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I nod impatiently. "Let's go."

Elliott keeps his hand in mine as we make our way out of the water. I stumble back up to shore, shivering from the freezing air against my wet skin. I grab my floral crop top and give Gemma a thumbs up. She winks.

Halfway to the gravel parking lot, I spot a group approaching from the other side of the lake house. One of the girls has long blonde hair. Maddy. Which means the taller boy behind her is Harris.

"Ignore them," Elliot murmurs.

Maddy says my name. Harris chuckles, whispering a reply into her ear.

I stop. "Did you say something?"

The alcohol has made me braver than I am.

Maddy's thin nose turns up in annoyance. That's when I realize that Harris is holding her hand. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close.

Harris and Maddy? Even after she watched what he did to me?

She smiles a cruel, manipulative grin that makes my stomach turn.

"I didn't know you were invited," she states.

"Elliott invited me."

She glances up at Elliott, pursing her plump lips. He crosses his arms against his chest without leaving the spot at my side.

"Rose Berman is really the reason why you haven't been texting me back?"

Elliott grits his teeth. "Don't, Maddy."

Maddy walks up to me. Her words drip with venom, "I know Elliott's a good fuck but be careful. Apparently, he'll leave you for the crazy girl."

"Yeah?" I challenge, blood boiling inside my veins. "At least he doesn't try to molest them. Or do you have selective memory?"

Harris growls. Elliott steps forward, challenging him to make a move, but he doesn't. He knows he doesn't stand a chance against Elliott.

"Let him play out his fantasy," Harris tells Maddy. "He'll screw up eventually. Then he'll be back."

The corners of his lips rise. He turns to Elliott and pulls a small bag out of his pocket. It's filled with white powder. Sweat drips down Elliott's forehead as he takes in the sight of it.

"Can't stay away for too long, can you, my friend?" Harris teases.

Elliott snarls, fingers curling into fists at his side. I wrap my hand around his wrist.

"Fuck you, Harris," I spit.

Laughing, the group walks toward the beer pong table, leaving Elliott and me alone in the darkness. He bounces up and down, like he does at the start of a match, teeming with pent-up energy.

"Let me go," he says.

"So, you can do what?"

"Kick his ass."

"Do you think that will fix anything?"

Nobody cares about what Harris Price did to me. They'll believe his word over mine. If Elliott beats him up, he'll look like the asshole. Elliott pulls out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, lights it, and inhales the smoke in one desperate breath. He's not 100 percent convinced.

"Come on," I say, "Let's go."

He does.

Shivering in my soaking wet clothes, I blast the heat inside of the car, but it does little to help. Elliott's face is still bright red.

"Did you know they were together? Maddy and Harris?" I ask.

"They're not," he responds, shortly. "Maddy doesn't date. She doesn't even like Harris. They're probably hooking up to piss me off."

He's angry. Not the reaction I was expecting.

Elliott reverses out of the parking spot and weaves his way through the crowd of students. I'm painfully sober now, and Elliott's bad mood is contagious. I scowl through the window.

"You can drop me off," I mutter. "This was a bad idea."

The car slows down. Elliott rests his foot on the brake and turns to me. "You think because of some shit Maddy said I don't want to be your friend anymore?"

I pause. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

Elliott leans his head against the window, pressing his thumb into the button to roll it down. He takes one final hit of the cigarette before throwing the butt into the street.

"I don't know," he admits.

I don't know, either.

But I want to find out.

Elliott presses on the gas. The night sky is full of stars, darkness hiding the trees around the lake in a blanket of shadows. I hum along to the radio as we turn back on the main street. Gradually, Elliott relaxes. He smiles.

"What?" I ask.

"These parties are usually shit, but you made it fun. I'm sorry my friends had to ruin it."

His grip on the wheel hardens, but I shake my head. "It doesn't have to be ruined."

With the highway clear of traffic, we make it to my house before eleven. My father's car is nowhere in sight, thank god.

"He works nights," I explain. "He's usually back by the time the sun comes up."

"Does he sleep through the day?"

"Not always. I think he likes to be awake when I'm at school in case something happens. I honestly don't know when he sleeps sometimes."

"He's a good dad," Elliott states.

His face loses its color. He puts the car into park, staring tiredly at my house. I can't imagine how hard it must be to not feel safe in your own home.

"You know, you can pick your family."

I say the words slowly and carefully, wishing for Elliott to take away from them what I want him to. But he doesn't look at me. And when he does respond, his voice shakes.

"I look in the mirror and see my father. That's not something I can choose."

I know how it feels to not recognize your own reflection. My mother and I could have been twins. But Elliott is nothing like his father.

"Screw him. He's not your family. Your family is Andre and Gemma and me. The people who care about you. They're the ones who matter."

Elliott half smiles but doesn't reply. We remain still beneath the stars, both of us caught up in our own mess of thoughts until I can't take the silence anymore. I open the car door and stroll toward my house. To my relief, Elliott follows.

I lead him up the stairs and into my bedroom. He's been here once before, the first time I joined him in The Ring and I played doctor, but that day feels like eons ago now. He picks up a doll sitting on my bookshelf and inspects it with the utmost curiosity. I try to snatch it out of his hands, but he lifts it into the air where I can't reach. The crown in the doll's hair hangs on by a thread.

"That's Clara," I explain, blushing. "I got her when I was eight."

"She's cute. What's she the queen of?"

"She's the princess of Rosaville, actually."

"I like that."

Elliott, whose presence is impossible to ignore, arms three times the size of my father's, looks delicate and breakable standing in my bedroom. His eyes are rich with sadness, threatening tears at any moment.

"What if Harris was right?" His voice is dull.

"What do you mean?"

"I mess up everything in my path, and now you're right in my way. If I'm anything like my dad, I'm only going to hurt you."

Elliott studies me with nothing but innocence and compassion. So unlike his father. I wish I could show him how different they truly are.

"You can't hurt me," I state, and I know without a doubt that it's the truth. "You won't."

I move magnetically toward him, wrapping my fingers around his clenched hand. He cusps my chin and lifts it up so we're only inches from kissing. Hot blood races from my heart to my head.

"Elliott King," I start. "You're smart, kind, and strong. And you're going to get out of this town and away from your dad."

The air between us is thick, and I can smell the remains of alcohol on his breath.

"We have to come up with a plan. Maybe if I fight—"

"Elliott," I interrupt. "We can figure it out when you're thinking straight."

He's not listening to me. "But if I fight, then he'll want me to stay . . ."

"Elliott," I say again, and this time he perks up. "It's going to be okay."

He stifles a nod. He looks tired, but alert, taking in the sight of me with a patient smile. He tucks a loose curl behind my ear.

"Sorry," Elliott mutters. "I get locked in on things sometimes."

"I know." I chuckle.

His eyes drop to my bedroom floor. "I should go. It's late and—"

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. He peers back up at me, biting down on his lip as he does. He's impossibly beautiful coated in the moonlight flooding my window.

I want him. More than I care to admit.

"Kiss me."

I barely have time to get the words out before he does just that.

Our closeness warms my wet, frigid skin, and I melt into him. My hand travels from his chin to the bottom of his T-shirt. He watches me with a tender smile, leaning back to allow me to peel the damp cloth off of his skin. The hunger in his gaze, the raspy way he's breathing—it's sacrilegious.

Elliott moves slowly, cautiously even though I'm not afraid. He runs his hand through my hair, his lips inching down my neck. I hold my breath as his hand travels farther up my body. With perfect precision, Elliott lifts my shirt over my head and tosses it to the floor. He moves his fingers to my collarbone, then to my shoulder toward my bra strap. Carefully, Elliott slips one strap down my shoulder. Then the other. I unclasp the material and drop it onto the bed.

The air against my naked skin is cold, but the heat of him keeps me from shivering. The tattoos scattered across his chest belong in a gallery. I gape, frozen in place, lips curled into a smile.

"You okay?" Elliott asks.

I nod. He makes this easy.

"You're stunning," he continues.

I shake my head. Elliott lifts my chin, demanding I look at him.

"You are."

Elliott watches me like I'm the only thing that's ever mattered to him. He runs his finger down my neck to my shoulders. The small, intricate movements feel like heaven, sending pulses of pleasure throughout my spine.

I've never felt this before. Closeness. Like our veins are filled with the same blood. Every move he makes, I fall into sync with. His blue eyes are limitless—full of possibilities of a future between us. His fingers drift farther down my body. I grab his hand as it nears the top of my shorts.

"Not tonight," I whisper.

Even though I can picture my first time being with Elliott, I haven't felt entirely comfortable with the idea of sex after what happened with Harris. Elliott immediately pulls his hand away. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

He whispers, "Meeting you was the best thing to happen to me in a very long time."

And I agree wordlessly, because I'm sure that he knows it from how my body leans into his. Elliott places his own T-shirt over my head. He smirks playfully as it consumes my body in one giant mess of cloth. I sink into the material. It smells like cigarettes and lavender and the salt of the ocean.

It smells like heaven.

"You should get some sleep," he suggests. His voice is husky.

"So should you."

Elliott kisses my cheek, then stands up from the bed. He buttons his jean jacket, and I frown.

"Goodnight, princess," Elliott whispers as he slips out the doorway to my bedroom.

I bury my face into my pillow so he can't see my stupid grin at the sound of the nickname.