Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,46
what it is while we’re alone.”
“I’m here, too,” Ben chimed in.
“That’s debatable.” Louis turned his back to the girls and lowered his voice. “As your attorney, I’ll do my best to advise you.”
“And protect your own ass,” Russell added. “Anyway, you gave me a refund, in case you forgot.”
“That was a symbolic refund. I can claim plausible deniability if push comes to shove, but we’re still protected by the bro code.” Louis gave him a meaningful look. “Has push come to . . . shove?”
“I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore.”
“Me either.” Ben threw an exhale toward the sky. “Just tell us why Abby came out here looking like someone ran over her puppy.”
“She did?” Russell wheezed the question, feeling as though he’d been slugged in the stomach by a giant. “Ah Jesus, this weekend was a bad idea. I just needed until Wednesday. Less than a fucking week.”
His friends traded a baffled look. “What?”
“Never mind,” Russell muttered. They wouldn’t understand. Both of them came from money. Louis had embraced his role as heir apparent to the McNally fortune. Ben might have shunned his status, but his bank account had been there all along to fall back on. Russell Hart had nothing. No padding to cushion him. Not for the first time, Russell questioned his role in the group. He was the oldest, the least successful, the one without a defined life path. Shit, here he was, hours from everything he knew, making sure no one looked sideways at Abby. A girl he had no business wanting. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Hey, man.” Louis handed him a hot dog on a plastic plate. “I’d rather you were defensive than quiet.”
Ben leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms. “Russell, I’m going to talk in my professor voice. Are you listening?” Russell raised an eyebrow, refusing to admit Ben’s stern tone had just sent him back to the middle-school principal’s office banked in his memory. “Louis and I complain about your often outlandish advice, but the truth is, it has helped us in the past realize we were being shitheads. Mostly by listening to your erstwhile wisdom and doing the opposite.”
“Thanks,” Russell stretched out. “I think?”
“Just go with it, man,” Louis said, while sending a wink toward Roxy.
“Do you know of the sirens from Greek mythology?” Ben asked, removing his glasses to polish them with the hem of his black T-shirt. “They sent sailors crashing against the rocks, having lured them with beautiful singing voices.”
“I’m with you so far,” Russell asked, wondering where the hell this lesson was going. Had his friends always been this weird? “Hurry up, though, Professor. I’m late for health class.”
“Here’s the lesson they don’t teach you in school.” Ben replaced his glasses. “The sirens were trying to tell the sailors something, and the fuck-ups wouldn’t listen. Find out what that something is, Russell, and don’t crash into the rocks.”
ABBY TOOK A healthy slug of her third margarita, hoping this one might have some effect. Maybe she was already too numb for the tequila to do its job. Evening had started making advances, darkening the sky by long-drawn-out degrees. She sat on a deck chair beside Honey and Roxy, listening to them trade summer-vacation horror stories, laughing when it seemed appropriate. It wasn’t right. She should have been enjoying herself, soaking up every second with her best friends, erasing the negative memories lingering in the house. It was impossible, though, when her cell phone continued to vibrate where she’d shoved it beneath her thigh. Mitchell. Her stepmother. She’d stopped checking. One weekend. She’d only wanted one weekend.
Abby sensed Russell watching her steadily from the deck, where the guys were cleaning up after their foray into grilling. Really, he hadn’t stopped watching her since coming downstairs—and the urge to flip him the bird was so intense, it actually alarmed her. She didn’t make rude gestures. Didn’t ignore phone calls. It was taking a massive effort just to sit there and look normal. Every time she felt the vibration against her thigh, a gnarled tree root grew inside her throat, extending deeper until it reached her stomach.
Is this what her father had gone through? This stress that stole your ability to function? Upon discovering that they’d found her father huddled in a bathtub, she’d been horrified by the image. Her capable, forward-thinking father shutting out the people surrounding him, unable to face the outside world. Now? Yeah, she could see herself hiding in a bathtub.