"Thanks, Doc."
Vincent stood back up, nodding in acknowledgement, and turned back to his son. "You, on the other hand, are going to need stitches. Right on the eyebrow, too. That's going to leave an ugly scar."
"Nice."
Vincent said nothing else as he walked out. It was only a minute later when he returned, a nurse in tow. Vincent went to work stitching up Carmine's eyebrow while the nurse wrapped Nicholas's ankle. Carmine watched her as she worked, purposely avoiding his father's intense glare.
Jenn was her name. Carmine knew her well, considering his father was screwing around with her.
It was ridiculous, Carmine knew, but he couldn't help the bitterness he felt at that fact, the sense of betrayal that stirred up inside of him at the thought of his father being intimate with anyone. It wasn't right. All these years later and he still felt like his father even looking at another woman was a disloyalty to his mother, like he was cheating on her, shamefully pissing on her memory.
And for a girl like Jenn? A girl who spread her legs for half the town?
Yeah, Carmine was bitter.
Jenn left a moment later and Vincent stepped back, surveying his handiwork, before snatching discharge papers from the charts. Carmine hopped down off the bed, side-stepping his father, but Vincent caught his arm before he could leave. "Which one of you is driving?"
Carmine yanked his arm away. "Me."
"How much have you had to drink?"
Carmine rolled his eyes, handing his discharge paper to Nicholas before dramatically, theatrically, extending his arms straight out and tipping his head back. Without any hesitation, he swiftly touched his nose with his fingertips.
"You don't have to be a smart ass, son. It's just a question... a valid one, at that."
Carmine threw his lollipop away. "I'm not drunk."
Vincent didn't appear convinced, but he didn't stop them from walking out. The two strolled back through the ER, past the crowd still waiting to be seen. Jenn stood at the check-in desk, chatting with another nurse, and waved at them as they passed.
"She's kinda hot, huh?" Nicholas said, eyeing her. "Doc could do worse."
Carmine shuddered. "That's my father you're talking about."
"So? Come on, DeMarco. You can't really blame the man. You can't tell me you wouldn't hit that if you could."
"I could hit it," Carmine said, "but I wouldn't."
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious. You think you could do it? Then do it. Fuck, I dare you to do it."
Nicholas's expression turned serious. He didn't balk at a challenge. "You're on."
* * *
"Going into halftime, the score is tied, fourteen to fourteen."
"You think we're gonna win?" Nicholas asked, slouching back and propping himself up on his elbows on the massive oversize stadium bleachers.
"Doubtful," Carmine muttered, taking a sip from his shiny metal flask. He grimaced, the warm liquor burning his throat. The trip to the hospital had sobered him up real quick. "Varsity team fucking sucks this year. They'd have better luck letting us play tonight."
"Next year," Nicholas said. "We'll show them how it's done."
"Goddamn right."
The crowd shifted all around them, people filtering out for concessions while others made their way to huddle in the bleachers for halftime. Homecoming. The one game of the year it seemed nobody in Durante missed. Glancing around, Carmine saw everybody who was everybody.
Everybody, of course, except his father, but that was no surprise to anybody. Vincent never even made it to Carmine's football games. Why would he come to these?
A group of their friends climbed the steps, led by Carmine's brother, Dominic. Dom greeted them warmly, bumping fists with Nicholas before plopping down beside Carmine. The rest filled the empty spaces around them, mostly girls, some Carmine knew intimately, others he had plans to get to know that way before it was all said and done. Tess Harper weaseled her way through the group, forcing herself down in a spot right in front of Dom.
"Boys," she said coldly, casting the two of them—Carmine and Nicholas—looks of wariness.
"Girl," Nicholas said sarcastically, the same time Carmine tipped his flask and muttered, "Bitch."
Tess rolled her eyes, turning to Dom. "Dominic."
Dom nudged her chin playfully, greeting her warmer than the others. "Hey, Tess."
"Your sister not come?" Carmine asked, drawing Tess's attention back to him and away from his brother. Those two freaked him out sometimes with the way they looked at each other. He didn't get it, and hoped like hell they'd get over their flirtationship. It made things awkward whenever they all hung out together.
"Of course not," Tess said. "Dia doesn't do football games."
"She came last night," Nicholas said. "You know, to the JV game."
Huh. Had she? Carmine still couldn't remember. He made a mental note to thank her later.
"Aw, good for you," Tess said dismissively. "You boys actually had someone there to watch for once."
Nicholas flipped her off, but Tess didn't notice, her attention going right back to Dom. Rolling his eyes, Carmine took another drink from his flask. Okay, he'd been wrong earlier. Amy Barlow wasn't the only girl off limits to him. The Harper twins needed added to that list of his could-never-have. Because Dia was the sister-he-never-had, while Tess was frankly the sister-he-never-wanted. He shuddered at the mere thought of seeing either of them naked.
Good thing Dia swung the other.
The announcer's voice rattled from the loudspeaker as the crowd grew thicker, more bodies huddling in the bleachers. The homecoming court descended upon the field. Seniors, dressed in their finest, announced one-by-one as the crowd cheered. Carmine found it all quite ridiculous and barely paid attention to the bullshit charade.
Nicholas reached over and smacked Carmine on the arm as he leaned toward him. "Got a bet for you."
"I'm listening."
"Twenty bucks to whoever nails the homecoming queen first."
Carmine chuckled, hearing Tess groan nearby. She'd overheard. "You're on."
"You in, Dom?" Nicholas asked.
"What's that?" Dom glanced back at them, raising his eyebrows. "Am I in what?"
"Twenty bucks to nail the homecoming queen."
Dom scoffed, waving them off. "Hell to the no."
"Why not?" Nicholas asked. "Know you'll lose?"
"He has more respect that that," Tess chimed in, her eyes narrowed as she glared back at them.
"Yeah, and besides," Dominic said, motioning out toward the field. "Between the two of you, you've already nailed almost all of them. Chances are one of you already won."
Nicholas shrugged, while Carmine smirked. He was counting on that.
The announcer finished introducing the homecoming court, the crowd going wild with anticipation as they were narrowed down, the runners up announced. Carmine took another sip from his flask, relaxing as the voice boomed from the speaker. "Your 2003 homecoming queen… Miss Amy Barlow!"
Nicholas threw up his hands. "I'm out."
Carmine chuckled, watching as Amy took the dozen roses, the crown and sash being donned on her. "Guess that's a bust, huh?"
"That's what you get," Dom said. "You're supposed to be with a girl because you want her—because you like her—not because you want to win some bet. Screwing a girl for twenty bucks? That makes you a prostitute, bro."
"A whore," Tess sneered.
Dom laughed. "A cheap one, at that."
Carmine ignored the insult as he turned his attention back to the football field. He'd certainly been called worse. He wasn't even offended. A whore? Hell, he didn't doubt it.
The second half of the game was a haze as he finished off his liquor. He and Nicholas jetted out early in the fourth quarter as Durante fell further and further behind the other team. The game was a definite loss, but the night?
The night was only just starting.
* * *
Party after part
y, house after house… the two made their way around town before ultimately descending upon Aurora Lake once again.
Carmine, at some point, had lost his shirt as he strolled along the stretch of sandy beach, clutching a beer, untied Nike's once again loose on his feet. Same shit, every day. He was who he was, and he had no plans to change for anybody.
His eyes scanned the shoreline under the cloak of darkness, recognizing some friends, ogling some strangers. A sense of peace settled over Carmine as he infiltrated the crowd, feeling contentment in the chaos. This was when he was in his element, when he felt on top of the world. He could forget about the outside world—forget about his family, about his life, about everything he lost and everything he once loved—and just exist for a while, the nucleus of society, the center of the fucking universe. It was his kingdom, and they were his people, and nothing felt better to him than taking his place on his throne.
Because these people? These girls? They practically worshiped him.
He strolled toward the water, nearing Nicholas as he slung his arm over the shoulder of a small brunette, a fellow sophomore. Carmine couldn't remember her name.
Fuck, his memory was shot.
"So, uh, what's brown and sticky?" Nicholas asked the girl. Her face contorted in confusion as she thought it over.
Carmine strode right past them, so close he elbowed his friend. "A stick."
"Foul, DeMarco," Nicholas grumbled, trying to kick Carmine with his bum foot, but he dodged out of the way.
"A stick?" the girl asked, her brow furrowing.
"Yeah," Nicholas said, "it's brown and, you know… stick-y."
She forced out a laugh. "I get it! That's funny!"
Rolling his eyes, Carmine guzzled the rest of his beer as he strode further down the shoreline, toward the dock not far from the Barlow residence—the one Nicholas had earlier crashed into. Somehow the jet skis had been removed from the water, back in their place at one of the neighbor's houses.
Carmine crushed the beer can in his hand and tossed it toward the metal trashcan. The crumpled aluminum ball hit the side of it and ricocheted off, but he looked away, not caring.
A throat dramatically cleared behind him, so close the hair at his nape stood on end. He turned back around, coming face-to-face with Amy. She snatched up the beer can and clutched it tightly in her fist, shaking it at him. "That's littering."
"So?"
"So I live here," she said. "You're practically littering in my yard."
"So?" he said again. "I litter in your actual yard."
She shook her head. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're kinda cute for being such a raging bitch."
Her gaze darted straight to his. He expected to see her feathers ruffled, to see her furious, but she appeared a little shell-shocked instead. "What did you say?"
He raised his eyebrows, waving her off. While he liked to press her buttons a bit, he wasn't really trying to offend Nicholas's sister. "Don't worry about it. I didn't mean it."
She recoiled, like his words hurt. "Didn't mean it?"
"Yeah. Bitch… it's just a word. I didn't mean it. Although, well, you know…" She was sort of a bitch, as far as he was concerned. "Yeah."
"Oh, no, I meant…" Her cheeks flushed. "Never mind. It's nothing."
"Okay."
He turned to walk away again when she groaned loudly, throwing the beer can straight at the metal bin, missing just as badly as he had. Instead of picking it up, though, she kicked it and stomped off.
"That's littering!" he yelled after her, smirking.
The group eventually migrated to the Barlow residence, music blaring from the house as speakers were shoved up against the open windows. Joshua Barlow worked almost as much as Vincent DeMarco, which was practically all-the-fucking-time. Carmine sat down on the front porch, a haze of smoke clouding around him as the steady flow of alcohol simmered in his bloodstream. Sky-high, drunk off his ass, he could hardly see, let alone think. Nothing mattered, nothing was more important, than that moment, in that place. It was what he lived for—the nothingness, the euphoria of teenage recklessness, as it washed away all of his painful memories.
It washed away everything.
It was something he had in common with Nicholas, the thing that fortified their friendship. Most people lived for the moments they'd remember forever, but him and Nicholas? They lived for the moments they could finally fucking forget.
The screen door slammed behind Carmine as he took a deep drag from a blunt, the smoke burning his lungs as it infiltrated his system. Familiar laughter met his ears—laughter he rarely heard, because Tess was always harping and never laughing at anything. He looked behind him and blanched, rapidly blinking, when he saw his brother wrap his arms around her and pull her to him. Tess giggled—she fucking giggled, like a bitty schoolgirl in a goddamn plaid skirt—as Dom kissed the corner of her mouth, his lips roaming down her jawline to her neck.
They paid Carmine no mind as they bounded down the steps, away from the house, kissing and touching. He gaped at them, stunned. "What the fuck?"
"Back to that?" Nicholas asked, somehow suddenly appearing at Carmine's side. He'd been so in a daze he hadn't heard his friend's approach. "That's all you said this morning."
Nicholas grabbed the blunt from Carmine and took a hit, closing his eyes as he inhale deeply, savoring it.
"Do you see that shit?" Carmine asked, waving toward the silver Audi parked in the grass nearby. Dom's car. Dom, who had Tess on the hood of it, where he stood between her legs and greedily kissed her lips. "Just… what the fuck?"
"Ah, yeah." Nicholas nodded, not appearing surprised. "He's definitely been hitting that."
"What?" Carmine asked, eyes wide with surprise. "What the fuck?"
"Come on, you had to have known," Nicholas said. "It was obvious, the way they were always being all touchy-feely, lovey-dovey."
"No, I just… no."
No.
Not happening.
His brother couldn't be doing that.
No fucking way.
Nicholas started to say something else when someone called his name. "Shit, I'll be back. That's Jane. You remember Jane, from Biology? I got a Dick she wants to meet. Get it, Dick and Jane?"
Nicholas laughed, shoving him jokingly, as he hobbled down the steps and wandered over toward where the young brunette from earlier stood. Ah, that was her name. Jane.
Shaking his head with disbelief, Carmine stood up, swaying a bit on shaky legs. He felt like he had slipped into some other dimension. He didn't like it over here. He preferred his world, for fuck's sake.
He headed inside, going straight for the kitchen, snatching one of the cheap beers from the refrigerator. He popped the top and took a swig as he started toward the bathroom. He made it halfway there when a door opened and rambunctious laughter streamed out from a room. Someone stepped out into the hallway right in front of him, away from the group gathered in a bedroom. His footsteps faltered when Amy hesitated right in front of him. Her gaze scanned him, eyes narrowed. "Pathetic."
"You're so fucking childish."
"Me? Childish?" she scoffed. "You're the little boy."
"There's nothing little about me, Amy. Nothing."
"You're right," she said. "Your ego certainly isn't little."
"You know, you remind me a little of Tess," he said. "Always flinging around your petty insults, like you think they actually might hurt me."
"Tess, huh?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Another one of your conquests, Don Juan?"
He narrowed his eyes at her bitter tone. "What did I ever do to you?"
"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."
He stared at her for a moment before stepping right toward her, closing the distance between them. "Is that what the problem is? Huh?"
"You're a jerk."
"I am," he replied. He was. He knew it. "Is that why you hate me so much?"
"I never said I hate you."
"You don't have
to say it."
She narrowed her eyes at him, standing her ground. "Fine. You wanna know?"
"Yes."
"Why is it you look at every girl around here but me?" she asked. "I know your reputation, but I don't know it. Never once have you made a move on me. Never once have you even looked the slighted bit interested. Why is that? What's wrong with me?"
He stared at her. Not exactly the reaction he'd expected. "Ah, bruise your ego, did I?"
She glared at him, huffing as she started to storm away, but he stepped in front of her to stop her. Christ, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Despite everything, he liked Amy… about as much as he could like a girl, anyway. She gave him hell, but she looked out for Nicholas, and by extension, him.
"There's nothing wrong with you. You're crazy if you think I haven't imagined doing things to you that would drive you fucking wild."
"Then why haven't you?"
He was taken aback by her bluntness. "Because you're Amy Barlow."
"And you're Carmine DeMarco," she said, stepping right to him, so close her breasts pressed up against his chest. "So what?"
He wanted to put up an argument… he had one, he was sure of it. He knew it, deep down inside. He knew there was a good goddamn reason he didn't pursue her, a reason he kept his distance, a reason their barely-tolerate-each-other-publicly relationship worked beautifully. But at that moment, as she stood toe-to-toe with him, the challenge in her bloodshot eyes—drunk, too—he completely forgot what it was. Here he was, standing there with the homecoming queen as she practically dared him to fuck her.
Nail the homecoming queen… that had been his goal tonight, right? Fuck it.
He didn't think anymore. He didn't even try to put up a fight. His hands were all over her, his lips on her neck, his teeth nipping her skin, her freshly manicured fingernails digging into his back as she clung to him.
Zero-to-sixty in the blink of an eye.
He dragged her straight past her bedroom, where her friends gathered, into the closest vacant space: Nicholas's room. Carmine kicked the door, slamming it closed with his foot, and the two of them stumbled through the mess toward the unmade bed. Amy gasped, steering him a different direction instead. "Ugh, not on the bed."