The blonde called his name, moving in the sand, and he glanced back before facing her again, indecision in his eyes. “You got a cell on you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I have Mom’s cell and I’ll be with a group. It’s just like any other night I go out with a group. Mom and Dad would be fine with it. Just call me when you leave here. You can pick me up then.”
He looked back once more, then studied her face. “Alright. Just be safe. I love you.”
She grinned, unable to contain the smile that burst out. “I love you too Paul. Thanks.”
He stepped back, watching her closely. “Cell phone. Don’t lose it and make sure the ringer’s on. I’ll call you in about an hour.”
She waved, turning and jogging up the beach, towards the fire.
“Happy Birthday!” he called out after her.
She waved again, without looking back, her eyes skimming the fire lit bodies, looking for the athletic build of her dreams.
He had a football in hand, and was heaving it into the darkness, a dim figure in red jumping up to catch it. She jogged up, tugged gently on his shirt, and waited for him to turn. He did, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest. “You coming?”
“Yeah. If that’s still okay.” She beamed up at him.
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “More than okay. Come on, you can ride with me.”
He whistled to a group, the guys turning, ditching red cups into the nearby dunes, insults and laughs tossed out as they dispersed.
Five minutes later, she was lifted into the backseat, his strong hands lingering on her waist, his hand sliding the seatbelt across her lap, teasing her bare thighs as it moved. He clinched the buckle, his face close to hers, and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers as his hand slid around her thigh, caressing the flesh there.
Then he leaned back, breaking their connection, shutting the door and leaning in the open window. “At the party, stick close to me. I’m gonna need more of that.”
His words made her smile, her cheeks warm, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “Okay.”
He tapped the roof. “Let’s go!” he yelled.
She glanced to the boy next to her, extending a shy smile, one that was quickly returned, framed by dark eyes, ruddy cheeks and thick black hair. “Heard you’re Brand’s sister.”
She nodded.
“He’s sick on a gun. Everyone knows who he is.”
“He taught me how to surf,” she offered.
“Hey!” the loud voice from the front seat broke their conversation. “You hitting on my girl, Brian?”
“Just making conversation Travis,” the boy muttered, grinning at her.
My girl. She bit her lip to contain a smile, grabbing the arm rest as the truck was slammed into drive, throwing her slightly forward.
10 YEARS EARLIER
DANA
LOS ANGELES GAZETTE
PRESS RELEASE: LOS ANGELES COUNTY
A late night of partying and drinking has taken the lives of three Los Angeles residents, one of them a seventeen-year-old girl. The driver, Jason Tate, is in critical condition at Long Beach Memorial Hospital and had a recorded BAC of 1.23.
Tate’s vehicle, a 1992 Land Rover Defender, lost control on Pacific Coast Hwy at approx. 11:14pm on Friday evening. The vehicle crashed through a guardrail before rolling down a steep embank. Jason Tate, a 21-year old UCLA student, was thrown from the vehicle and suffered severe head trauma. The bodies of Brian Jesup and Jennifer Brand were found in the burnt-out vehicle, restrained by seat belts. It is unknown if they were conscious when the vehicle caught fire, the blaze a result of the impact, which cracked the fuselage and tank. The third fatality, Robert McCormick, was found a short distance from the vehicle, and died of head injuries.
A joint memorial service will be held on Saturday at 2pm. In lieu of flowers, please make donations to M.A.D.D. of Los Angeles.
That night ripped apart our lives. I came home, leaving Berkeley mid-semester, and found Mom, on her bedroom floor, sobbing, her arms wrapped around a framed photo of our family. One taken before Dad’s heart attack. Back when we were a family of six, before we became five, and then four. It wasn’t long after that that we became three. Three separate souls, unconnected except for the blood in our veins and love locked away in the stubborn places of our hearts.
“She was seventeen!” Stewart yelled, pushing Paul against the wall, frames rattling against wallpaper from the impact. He dug his hands into Paul’s shoulders, their faces only inches apart. “Seventeen!”
“She wanted to go. I didn’t know. I thought it was just a party.” Paul’s words stumbled out of his mouth, a sob thick in the back of his throat, his body slumping down the wall as Stewart released him.
“Did you put her in the truck?” Stewart asked, every word a bite of venom. “Did you look into the eyes of the boy who killed her? Or were you too busy f**king around to worry about something as simple as our little sister’s life?”
Paul was silent, his head in his hands, shoulders racking as he tried to contain silent sobs.
“You f**king disgust me.” Stewart said, breathing hard, his face tight with barely restrained rage. I left my post by the wall, stepping forward, my eyes meeting Stewart’s, a fraction of a moment in time before I wrapped my arms around his chest. He gripped me tightly, so tightly it hurt, his need so great, his heart openly breaking between my arms. “She’s gone.” He whispered the words, his voice gravelly. “She’s f**king gone.” His voice broke and I felt the shake of him, his strong frame crumbling in my arms, his breath gasping as he buried his face in my hair. “What the f**k are we going to do?”
I held him, my own tears flowing, my eyes blocked from Paul by the wide expanse of Stewart’s chest. I wanted to go to him, to hug my little brother, but could feel the anger radiating from Stewart, mixing with his pain, the combination crippling him. I pulled back, looking up into his eyes. “Mom’s asking for you.”
He nodded, squeezing me one final time before stepping away, his eyes never going to Paul, his profile furious.
I waited until he left the room, pulling the door shut with a finality that hurt, then hurried to Paul, crouching down next to him. I wrapped my arms around him, shushing him as I felt him shake. When he moved, sitting up against the wall, his wet eyes staring straight ahead, I curved into him, his arms automatically moving around my shoulders, taking me into his embrace. “He hates me.” He whispered.