Ronnie nodded. "Yes, please." She straightened her dress as she stood, hoping she could make it home without throwing up. "Would you please tell Will that I said good-bye? And that I won't be seeing him anymore?"
Tom nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I can do that."
*
She didn't throw up and didn't cry, but she didn't say anything in what had to be the longest car ride of her life. Nor did Tom, though that wasn't exactly surprising.
The house was quiet when she got home; the lights were off, and both Jonah and her dad were sound asleep. From the hallway, she could hear her father breathing; it was deep and heavy, as though he'd had a long, hard day. But all she could think as she crawled into bed and began to cry was that no day could have been longer and harder than the one she'd just endured.
Her eyes were still puffy and sore as she felt someone shaking her awake. Squinting up, she saw Jonah sitting on the bed beside her.
"You've got to get up."
The images from the night before and the things Susan had said came surging back, making her suddenly feel nauseated.
"I don't want to get up."
"You don't have a choice. There's someone here."
"Will?"
"No," he said. "Someone else."
"Ask Dad if he can handle it," she said, pulling the covers over her head.
"I would, except that he's still sleeping. And besides, she asked for you."
"Who?"
"I don't know, but she's waiting for you outside. And she's hot."
After throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, Ronnie stepped cautiously onto the porch. She hadn't known what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it.
"You look terrible," Megan said without preamble.
She was dressed in shorts and a tank top, but Jonah was right: Up close, she was even prettier than she'd been at the wedding yesterday. She also radiated a self-confidence that made Ronnie instantly feel years younger.
"I'm really sorry about ruining your wedding...," Ronnie began.
Megan held up a hand. "You didn't ruin the wedding," she said with a wry smile. "You made the reception... memorable..."
At Megan's comment, Ronnie felt tears beginning to form.
"Don't cry," Megan said gently. "I don't blame you. If it was anyone's fault, it was Marcus's."
Ronnie blinked.
"Yeah, I know what happened. Will and I talked after my mom was finally finished with him. I think I'm pretty clear on everything. So like I said, I don't blame you. Marcus is insane. He always has been."
Ronnie swallowed. Though Megan was being ridiculously forgiving about the whole thing--or maybe because she was being so understanding--her feelings of mortification only intensified.
"Umm... if you're not here to yell at me, then why did you come?" Ronnie asked.
"Partly because I talked to Will. But the main reason I came is because I want to know something. And I want you to tell me the truth."
Ronnie felt her stomach roiling. "What do you want to know?"
"I want to know if you love my brother."
Ronnie wasn't sure she'd heard right, but Megan's gaze was unwavering. Yet what did she have to lose? Their relationship was over. Distance would make sure of that, if Susan didn't do it first.
Megan had asked for the truth, and in light of the kindness she'd shown, Ronnie knew she had no choice.
"Yes, I do."
"It's not a summer fling?"
Ronnie shook her head fiercely. "Will and I..." She trailed off, not trusting herself to speak, knowing that words were inadequate to describe it.
Studying her face, Megan slowly began to smile. "Okay," she said. "I believe you."
Ronnie frowned in consternation, and Megan laughed. "I've been around. I've seen that look before. Like this morning when I looked in the mirror. I feel the same way about Daniel, but I have to say it's a little odd to see that look on you. When I was seventeen, I don't think I even knew what love was. But when it's right, it's right, and you just know it."
As Ronnie registered her words, she decided that Will hadn't been fair when he'd described his sister. She wasn't great, she was... way, way better than that. She was the kind of person Ronnie wanted to be in a few years, in practically every way. In a matter of minutes, Megan had become her hero.
"Thank you," she murmured, unable to think of a better response.
"Don't thank me. This isn't about you. This is about my brother, and he's still crazy about you," she said with a knowing smile. "Anyway, my point is that since you're in love with him, then you shouldn't worry about what happened at the reception. All you did was give my mom a story she's going to tell for the rest of her life. Believe me, she'll get a lot of mileage out of it. In time, she'll get over this. She always does."
"I don't know..."
"That's because you don't know her. Oh, she's tough, don't get me wrong. And protective. But once you get to know her, there's no one better in the world. She'll do anything for anyone she cares about."
Her words echoed Will's description, but so far, Ronnie hadn't seen that side of Susan.
"You should talk to Will," Megan said, lowering her sunglasses into place as she prepared to leave. "Don't worry. I'm not suggesting you go to the house. And besides, he's not there."
"Where is he?"
She motioned over her shoulder, toward the pier in the distance. "He's at the tournament. Their first game starts in forty minutes."
The tournament. In the wild rush of all that had happened, she'd forgotten about it.
"I was just there, but when I left him, he was really out of it. He was so upset, I don't think he slept at all. Especially after what you told my dad. You need to make things right." Her voice was firm.
Megan was about to step off the porch when she turned to face Ronnie again. "And just so you know? Daniel and I postponed our honeymoon for a day so we could watch my little brother play in the tournament. It would be great if his head was in the game. He might have downplayed it, but doing well in the tournament is important to him."
After showering and dressing, Ronnie raced down the beach. The area around the pier was thronged, much as it had been on her first night in town.
Temporary bleachers that sandwiched two courts had been set up on the far side of the pier, jammed with at least a thousand spectators. Even more were massed along the pier, which provided a bird's-eye view of the game. The beach itself was so packed, she could barely make her way through the crowd. There was no way she'd be able to find Will in time, she fretted.
No wonder winning the tournament was so important.
She searched the crowd, catching sight of some of the other teams, which only made her feel more frantic. As far as she could tell, there wasn't a special area reserved for the players, and she despaired of ever locating him with so many people around.
With only ten minutes until the game began, she was about to give up when she suddenly spotted him walking with Scott near some paramedics who were leaning against their truck. As Will pulled off his shirt, he vanished behind the truck.
She plunged through the crowd, calling out hurried apologies to the people she pushed. It took her less than a minute to reach the spot where she'd last seen him, but he was nowhere in sight. She moved forward again, and this time she thought she saw Scott--he was hard to make out in the ocean of blondes. Just as she let out a frustrated sigh, she saw Will standing by himself in the shade of the bleachers, taking a long drink from a bottle of Gatorade.
Megan had been right. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he was exhausted, and she couldn't see evidence of any pre-game adrenaline.
She scooted around some bystanders, breaking into a jog as she got closer. For an instant, she thought she saw surprise in his face, but he quickly turned away and she knew his dad had given him her message.
She read the pain and confusion in his reaction. She would have talked it all through with him, but with the game only minutes away, she didn't ha
ve time. As soon as she was close, she threw her arms around him and kissed him as passionately as she could. If he was surprised, he recovered quickly and began to kiss her back.
When they finally separated, he spoke. "About what happened yesterday..."
Ronnie shook her head, placing a gentle finger over his lips. "We'll talk about that later, but just so you know, I didn't mean what I said to your dad. I love you. And I need you to do something for me."
When he cocked his head questioningly, she went on.
"Play today like you've never played before."
27
Marcus
Kicking at the sand at Bower's Point, Marcus knew he should be enjoying the havoc he'd wreaked the previous evening. Everything had turned out exactly the way he'd planned it. The house had been decorated precisely as the endless newspaper articles had detailed, and loosening the tent pegs--not all the way, just enough to ensure they'd pull free when he slammed into the ropes--had been easy to do when everyone was eating dinner. He'd been thrilled to see Ronnie wander down to the dock, Will in tow; they hadn't let him down. And good old reliable Will had played his part perfectly; if there was a guy more predictable in the entire world, Marcus would be shocked. Push button X and Will would do one thing; push button Y and Will would do another. If it hadn't been so much fun, it would have been boring.
Marcus wasn't like other people; he'd known that for a long time. Growing up, he never felt guilty about anything, and he liked that about himself. There was power in the ability to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it, but the pleasure was usually short-lived.
Last night, he'd felt more alive than he had in months; the rush had been incredible. Usually after he pulled off one of his "projects," as he liked to think of them, he would be satisfied for weeks. A good thing, too, since his urges, left unchecked, would eventually get him caught. He wasn't dumb. He knew how things worked, which was why he was always very, very careful.
Now, however, he was plagued by the feeling that he'd made a mistake. Perhaps he'd pushed his luck too far in making the Blakelees the target of his latest project. They were the closest thing to royalty in Wilmington, after all--they had power, they had connections, and they had money. And he knew that if they discovered he was involved, they'd stop at nothing to put him away for as long as possible. So he was left with a nagging doubt: Will had covered for Scott in the past, but would he do so even at the expense of his sister's wedding?
He didn't like this feeling. It felt almost like... fear. He didn't want to go to prison, no matter how short the sentence. He couldn't go to prison. He didn't belong there. He was better than that. He was smarter than that, and he couldn't imagine being locked in a cage and being ordered around by a bunch of prison guard flunkies or becoming the love interest of a three-hundred-pound neo-Nazi or eating food sprinkled with roach crap or any of the other horrors he could easily imagine.
The buildings he'd burned and the people he'd hurt meant absolutely nothing to him, but the thought of prison made him... sick. And never once had the fear felt closer than it had since last night.
So far, things were calm, he reminded himself. Obviously Will hadn't identified him, because if he had, Bower's Point would be crawling with cops. Still, he needed to lay low for a while. Real low. No parties at beach houses, no fires in warehouses, and he wouldn't go anywhere near either Will or Ronnie. It went without saying that he wouldn't utter a single word to Teddy or Lance or even Blaze. It was better to let people's memories fade.
Unless Will changed his mind.
The possibility hit him like a physical blow. Where he'd once had complete power over Will, their roles had suddenly been reversed... or at least equalized.
Maybe, he thought, it would be best if he just left town for a while. Head south to Myrtle Beach or Fort Lauderdale or Miami until the little wedding brouhaha faded away completely.
It felt like the right decision, but for that, he needed money. A lot of money. And soon. Which meant he needed to do some shows in front of some very large crowds. Luckily, the beach volleyball tournament was starting today. Will would be competing, no doubt, but there was no reason he had to go anywhere near the courts. He'd do his show on the pier... a big show.
Behind him, Blaze was sitting in the sun, wearing only jeans and her bra; her shirt lay balled up near the campfire.
"Blaze," he called out, "we're going to need nine fireballs today. There's going to be a big crowd and we need to make some money."
She didn't answer him, but her audible sigh set his teeth on edge. He was sick and tired of her. Since her mom had kicked her out, she'd been nothing but glum day in and day out. He watched her rise from her spot and grab the bottle of lighter fluid. Good. At least she was working a little to earn her keep.
Nine fireballs. Not all at the same time, of course; they normally used six in the course of a show. But adding one more here and there, something unexpected, might be enough to raise the cash he needed. In a couple of days, he'd be in Florida. Just him. Teddy and Lance and Blaze would be on their own for a while, which was fine with him. He was sick of all of them.
Already planning his trip, he barely noticed as Blaze soaked several cloth balls in lighter fluid, directly above the shirt she would later wear in the show.
28
Will
Winning their first-round game was remarkably easy; Will and Scott barely broke a sweat. In round two, their game was even easier, their opponents scoring only a single point. In the third round, both he and Scott had to work hard. Though the score appeared lopsided, Will walked off the court thinking that the team they had just beaten was a lot better than the score indicated.
They started the quarterfinals at two p.m.; the final was scheduled for six. As Will rested his hands on his knees, waiting for the opposing team's service, he knew his game was on today. They were down five to two, but he wasn't worried. He felt good, he felt quick, and every shot he placed sent the ball flying to exactly the spot he wanted. Even as his opponent tossed the ball in the air to begin his serve, Will felt unassailable.
The ball came arcing over the net with a heavy topspin; anticipating its drop, he scrambled forward and set up the ball perfectly. With flawless timing, Scott rushed up and leapt before spiking the ball crosscourt, returning the serve to their side. They won the next six points in a row before the other team got the serve back, and as he settled into position, he quickly scanned the stands for Ronnie. She was sitting in the bleachers opposite his parents and Megan--probably a good idea.
He'd hated that he couldn't tell his mom the truth about Marcus, but what could he do? If his mom knew who'd done it, she would go for blood... which could only lead to retribution. He was certain the first thing Marcus would do if arrested would be to get his sentence reduced in exchange for "useful information" about another, more serious crime--Scott's. It would cause problems for Scott at a critical time in his scholarship search, not to mention hurt Scott's parents--who also happened to be close friends of his own parents. So he'd lied, and unfortunately his mom had chosen to blame the whole thing on Ronnie.
But she'd shown up this morning and told him that she loved him nonetheless. They'd talk later, she'd promised. And she'd told him that more than anything, she wanted him to play his best in the tournament, which was exactly what he was going to do.
As the opponents served again, Will raced across court to make the shot; Scott followed with a perfect set, and Will spiked it home. From that point on, their opponents scored only one more point before the game ended; in the next game, they scored only twice.
He and Scott advanced to the semifinals, and in the stands, he could see Ronnie cheering for him.
The semifinal match was their toughest yet; they'd won the first game easily, only to lose the second game in a tiebreaker.
Will was standing on the service line, waiting for the official to signal the beginning of the third game, when his gaze wandered first to the bleachers and then to the
pier, noting that the crowd was three times larger than it had been the year before. Here and there, he saw clusters of people he'd known in high school and others he'd known growing up. There wasn't an open seat in the stands.
At the referee's signal, Will tossed the ball high in the air and took a series of quick steps. Launching himself into the air, he sent a driving serve down the baseline, aiming for a spot about three-quarters of the way back. He landed, ready to scramble into position, but he already knew it wasn't necessary. By splitting the court, both of his opponents had frozen for an instant too long; the hard-driving ball sent up a plume of sand before skating off the court.
One to zero.
Will served seven times in a row, putting Scott and him comfortably ahead, and they ended up alternating points from then on, leading to a relatively easy victory.
Walking off the court, Scott slapped his back.
"It's over," he said. "We're on fire today, so let Tyson and Landry bring it on!"
Tyson and Landry, a pair of eighteen-year-olds from Hermosa Beach, California, were the dominant junior team in the world. A year ago, they'd ranked eleventh in the world overall, which would have been good enough to represent virtually every other country in the Olympic Games. They'd been playing together since they were twelve years old and hadn't lost so much as a game in two years. Scott and Will had met them only once before in last year's semifinal of the same tournament, and they'd walked off the court with their tails between their legs. They hadn't even made a game of it.
But today was a different story: They won the first game by three points; Tyson and Landry won the next game by exactly the same margin; and in the final game, they found themselves tied at seven.
Will had been outside in the sun for nine hours. Despite the liters of water and Gatorade he'd consumed, the sun and heat should have worn him down at least a little, and maybe it had. But he didn't feel it. Not now. Not when he realized they actually had a chance to win the whole thing.
They had the serve--always a disadvantage in beach volleyball, since points were scored with every volley and the team returning the serve had the chance to set and spike the ball--but Scott sent a knuckleball serve over the net that forced Tyson out of position. Tyson was able to reach the ball in time, but he sent it flying in the wrong direction. Landry charged and somehow got his hand on the ball, but that only made matters worse; it soared into the crowd, and Will knew it would be at least another minute until the ball was back in play. When that happened, he and Scott would be leading by a point.