Wynn

I'm not quite sure why I continue to torture myself by staying here. Watching Cole dancing with Colby—it's eating me up inside. My stomach rolls and flip-flops with every laugh and smile they share between them.

I'm so jealous, I can taste it.

Deep down, I know I shouldn't have come in the first place. But selfishly, I wanted to see him, and I knew it would be safe, as Harris wouldn't deign to be around all of this chaos.

It's wrong for me to resent Colby as I do. Heck, I practically shoved them toward one another. Even worse is the fact that she asked me if I could ever see myself with him. I lied, of course, telling her he's just a friend.

The truth is, nothing has ever felt more right than being with him. That has to become a distant memory though, relegated to my past for both of our sakes.

The two of them have been carrying on for a while, and I haven't taken my eyes off of them. They deserve the height of happiness, but if they choose to be together, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it.

And it'll be my own fault.

I know that my feelings right now are completely off base, so I work desperately to tamp down the bitterness forming against my best friend. She doesn't know the story of Cole and me. Nobody does.

Still, I also recognize that Colby holds out hope for reconciliation with Wyatt and that only serves to amplify my irritation toward her. Wyatt is to her what Cole is to me, only they could be together! There's no Montague/Capulet style war brewing between their families.

I've always thought reconciliation was the inevitable outcome for those two, but they stubbornly refuse, continuing to drift further and further from one another.

In a perfect world, Wyatt and Colby would find their way back to the bliss they once shared, and I could make Cole mine without fear of the repercussions. Too bad that's not how life works. I sip on my coke, continuing to watch while the scene unfolds before me.

The alternate version of what should be.

I roll my eyes at my drunken classmates as they make complete fools of themselves, speaking at an elevated volume with glazed-over eyes. The house smells like skunk, which means there's got to be a treasure trove of pot somewhere, and I feel like I'm already suffering from the effects secondhand. The pungent odor alone makes my head throb in protest.

Amazing how I, the so-called wild child of North High, am the one alone, pressed to the wall with only a soda in hand.

"Wynona Caldwell. You're too pretty to be a wallflower," says a male voice in greeting. I'd know his voice anywhere. I've only been listening to him talk about himself since kindergarten.

Ari Castillo.

"Why don't you get out on that dance floor and give me a spin around it?" he urges with a wily grin, waggling his eyebrows in encouragement. He'll be a lifelong friend, I'm convinced, and while he may be a douchebag, I can't deny that he knows how to make my mood a little lighter.

"I don't know if you can handle this, Chief," I tease, earning a scoff.

"Please. I'm Aurelius freakin' Castillo," he announces with ridiculous pride. "I can do anything. Now, give me your hand."

I oblige, and he hauls me out onto the dance floor. It might just be the death of me.

Aurelius Castillo is a lot of things, but a good dancer isn't one of them. His arms flail about, and he does a weird looking kick thing as he moves completely out of time with the beat. I'm doubled over laughing at him when the song changes to a two-step country tune.

"I think you're scaring her," Nash says, tapping a focused Ari on the shoulder. "My turn."

"Whatever, man. You're gonna miss these moves though," Ari says, tossing me a wink and shimmying away from us in a way that makes me cringe.

"Yikes," Nash mutters, voicing my sentiments to the letter.

"Let's do this!" I say as he wraps his large hand around mine, guiding me around the dance floor in fluid fashion. I can't help but giggle as he dips and twirls me. Now, this boy can dance.

These, right here, are the unconditional friendships most would kill for, and they fell right into my lap at the ripe old age of five. Regardless of my mood, I am blessed.

All of the dancing and joking offers me a brief reprieve from creeping on Colby and Cole, and now I'm having difficulty spotting them. I search the crowded space for their faces, when finally I see them... scampering up the stairs.

My heart shatters.

"Whew! I think I need a break," I tell Nash, fanning myself with my hand. I fake a smile, which I'm certain he instantly sees through. He nods, releasing me without question, but the curiosity is written in his eyes while the tears build in my own. I guess that's the trouble with a small town. Everybody knows everyone's tells, and nobody gets away with anything.

Brushing past the over-heated bodies, I make my way to the edge of the Galloway's family pool outside. I seat myself, removing my shoes and dipping my feet, watching the ripples as they become illuminated by the soft lighting beneath the water. This is as good of a place as any to wallow in my self-induced pit of misery.

"Great party, huh?"

Aaaaand speaking of misery...

Greg Hayword sits beside me, completely oblivious to my foul mood. This is just what I needed right now, dammit.

"Sure is," I reply sarcastically. My tone flies right over his head as he places his hand on my knee. I remove it promptly, but he's undeterred, making a move for my hand next. I whip my fingers from his grip, which somehow brings a smile to his face.

"Still feisty," he mutters in a low voice.

What in the heck is that supposed to mean? He's always chased me, his own little game of cat and mouse, but tonight is not the night for it. He's the scum of the earth. I'd never be upset enough to stoop so low.

"You look like you could use a ride home," he continues. I wince at the thought of a car ride alone with him, and whatever he thinks will happen afterward. His breath reeks of alcohol, and his expression is nothing short of predatory. "Wouldn't want you driving home in your condition."

My condition? Oooookay...

Instead, I'll entrust my life to a wasted playboy. Right. A for effort, dirtbag.

"She seems fine to me," Mari says, her interruption timely. "You can excuse yourself now, though." She flicks her wrist in dismissal, and he scoffs at the intrusion, rising to his feet.

"I'll catch you later, Wynn," he says, making his way back to his post.

"I'm sure you will," I mutter. Mari settles herself into a hammock, draped between two towering cherrybark oak trees, swaying back and forth under the night sky.

She's always good company. Her humor is as dark as my own, and she doesn't put up with anybody's crap—a girl after my heart. I've always envied her independence from school politics. I suppose I could've avoided most of it, too, had Colby not convinced me to be a part of the cheerleading squad.

"We shoulda drowned him," Mari says nonchalantly from behind me.

"True," I reply with a laugh. "Why didn't we think of it sooner?"

"I dunno, it woulda been perfect. Coulda offed Ari along with him, and made it look like an accident," she adds. "I'm stuck being DD tonight for that idiot."

"He is an idiot," I say, giggling when I think of Ari busting out his dance moves a few minutes ago.

"Oh, there you are," Nash gushes, moving toward Mari.

And I'm out. These two are on the verge of...something. The bashful flirtation has been ongoing for some weeks, and I don't wanna third-wheel it.

"I think I'm gonna head home," I say, shaking the water off of my feet before I slip my shoes back on. I love them both, but watching a happy almost-couple right now will be my undoing.

"See ya, Wynn," Nash says before scooping Mar's petite figure effortlessly into his arms.

"If you throw me into that pool, Nashawn, I swear—" she squeals, her voice trailing off as I re-enter the chaos of tonight's bash.

I want what they have.

While searching for my jacket, I hear a door slam. Peering through the mass of degenerate teens, I see Wyatt storming down the staircase with a hysterical Colby in tow, slung unceremoniously over his shoulder.

Wyatt never does anything without a solid reason to back it.

This can't be good.

They leave the house together, and I blaze up to Cole's room, where I find Cole standing before his mirror, examining his face.

"What happened here?" I demand. He turns to look at me, seemingly surprised by my sudden appearance. His eye is discolored and swelling more with each second. "What happened to your eye?"

I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Wyatt was the factor I hadn't considered in my brilliant designs to push Cole and Colby together. One of the many factors I hadn't considered.

"Just a love tap from Wyatt," he snarls. My heart aches in my chest at the sight of his face, and the pain doubles when I consider what Wyatt walked in on. What prompted him to take action?

"Can I bring you some ice? Are you alright?" I inquire, taking a step closer.

"We don't share anything anymore, remember?" he bites. I can't blame him for lashing out at me. In his mind, he has to believe I've been playing games with his emotions from day one.

He should hate me.

"You wanted me to move on with Colby apparently, judging by your subtle hinting earlier, so that's what I'm doing." He winces with discomfort as he speaks, and our eyes meet.

"That's... that's good," I lie, my voice only a whisper. The silence hovering between us is thick with the emptiness I feel without him. I turn around, leaving his room wordlessly.

I quickly work my way through the party and into the kitchen. In the freezer I find a bag of frozen peas that I tuck under my arm to avoid any questions from my inebriated schoolmates. I also grab an empty solo cup before running back up the stairs.

I take a detour, sneaking into Harris's lair, where I find the master bathroom. I search for some aspirin to help mask Cole's pain, if only for a few hours of relief, and fill the cup with some water before heading back down the hall.

When I return to Cole's room, he's lying flat on his back in bed. I close the door behind me, locking it and moving to his bedside.

"This should help reduce the swelling," I say, extending the bag of peas to him. He offers a weak smile before accepting the frozen bag.

"Why did you come back?" He places the peas gingerly over his black and blue wound while watching me intently with his good eye.

"This is what we do, Galloway," I say. "We take care of each other. Heal each other..." Without thinking, I move to lay next to him, my body flush with his.

This is what we do. We keep coming back for more, even though we know we shouldn't. We keep loving, even though we know we can never have the desires of our hearts.

I sigh, knowing that Cole's bed is the last place I should be—especially after what I just witnessed. Wyatt was nothing short of furious as he stormed out of the house. I try to stifle the questions that are reeling in my mind, but I can't manage to quell them before they escape.

"What was happening with Colby before Wyatt got here," I blurt out. I shouldn't ask. Then again, I shouldn't be lying next to him either, but here we are again.

"Nothing," he replies. "We were talking, but she seemed really wasted or something. I offered to take her home, but she was still having fun. She took a video of us and sent it to Wyatt. So, there you have it..."

That explains it.

"He's a possessive asshole, but I guess I don't entirely blame him. He'll never stop fighting for her, even if they're never to be," Cole adds, easing himself onto his side and meeting my gaze, the bag of peas falling to the bed between us. The intensity in his eyes steals my breath away as I read between the lines.

I interlace my fingers with his, caught up in his subtle admission. He doesn't pull away, but then again, he never does. I'm lost in the silence between us when I realize he's about to kiss me.

"Colby doesn't drink anymore," I say, just before his lips touch mine. It brings him up short just in the nick of time, a look of confusion coloring his face.

I can't. I can't, I chant, though I'm utterly desperate for him in this moment. But his discolored eye serves as a reminder of all the reasons this is wrong, though that particular injury wasn't inflicted by Harris's hand.

Next time, it would be. I won't let it happen again.

"I thought you'd said that, but I didn't push the issue with Wyatt. He didn't seem up for further discussion," Cole says. "He thinks I slipped something into her soda, which obviously didn't happen, but someone must have."

"You think Greg did something?" I ask. It doesn't seem outside of the realm of possibility. No wonder he was convinced I was in no condition to drive...

"I think he spiked the wrong drink," Cole says, a torrent of fury simmering behind his blue eyes as he echoes my own thoughts. "He's wanted you for years, and I think he messed up his slip."

"At least Wyatt will get her home alright," I say.

Cole's hand tightens around mine. "At least it wasn't you," he says, kissing me lightly on the forehead. "And Greg will be dealt with."