Chapter Sixteen: Kings

Ssureee. Ab0ut WhAt excalty?

I scowled at the screen, my fingers digging into the edges of my phone. Why did Max message like that? And then I'm swearing as I toss the covers over my body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. I tug on a t-shirt, nearly tripping over the soccer ball as it rolls across my bedroom floor. I grab the first pair of shoes I can find, not even bothering to look for socks.

There's a party tonight. A Thornfalls one. And Max just drunk messaged me. I dial her number as I fit my arm into the sleeve of my jacket. Nada. Shit, why is Max at a Thornfalls party? She's not a player or a cheerleader so most people won't recognise her, but still. What was she thinking about going there and getting drunk?

Oh, if one of these bastards so much as laid a hand on her –

I clench my jaw, willing my brain to stop horrible images from popping into my mind. Slowly, without turning on the light, I open the door of my room and slip through the crack. I pad across the dark hallway on bare tiptoes, my shoes in one hand and my phone gripped tightly in the other. All the bedroom's lights are switched off and not a sound can be heard, save for Dad's even snores. And if Dad's asleep, then so is Mum.

Sage and Tori won't be awake either – all of tonight's excitement weighed down on them enough for them to be fast asleep. And the hazy glow I usually see illuminating from Rouge's room, the tell that she's on her phone, isn't awake either. I guess she must be spent as well. That works out perfectly for my escape. I get down the stairs without a hassle, and then I grab my keys as silently as possible and my jacket from the hook.

I'm out the door and pulling on my shoes and jacket in no time.

The driveway floodlights help me through the darkness of the night as I get to my car, the quiet atmosphere, and the cold wind foreboding. Crickets chirp on the grass all around me as I get in my car, thankful it was on the driveway and not the garage. That would've made way too much noise to work out. Max is the only thing on my mind as I speed through the empty streets, determination spiking my veins like lightning striking the sky.

**

It didn't take me long to find Oscar's house, I knew the area he lived in, and right now, his is the only house with all the lights on, and music paid enough to be heard from a street away. The sight of teenagers spilling out the door and loitering on the lawn just amplifies my estimation. I park quickly and jog across the lawn, shoving my body through the front floor. No one stops me. Everyone is too wasted to realise just who I am. As long as none of the Thornfalls players sees me crashing their party, I'm safe.

I don't know about Oscar. If he'd kick me out or let me Max. I'm not interested in finding out.

"Hey, man," someone bumps into me, his drink sloshing in the red cup.

"Hi," I grimace, backing away as the guy stumbles to the side, hitting his hip against the wall.

That's gotta hurt.

"Fuck," he mumbles, but I don't stick around, sinking further into the house.

I push myself into the crowd, flitting between sweaty high schoolers as I scan the contents of the room. One too many times I'm bumped into, and the bobbing heads and dim lights don't help me find Max. I look around aimlessly, gaze scouring for a certain black bob, to no avail. Where is she?

I make it passed the groups of people gathered on the dance floor, to the fringe of the crowd chilling on chairs or making out against walls. The French doors leading to a pool are open, but I don't see any figures on that side jumping into the freezing water. There are stairs inside the house leading up to the bedrooms for sure and my stomach twists to think Max is there.

"Hi there, handsome," a short brunette is at my side before I blink, her sharp nails clawing at my shirt.

"Okay," I gently pry her wondering hands away before they can reach my jeans.

"What? Aren't I pretty?" She purrs, her breath reeking of alcohol.

"Yes, very pretty," I assure her, pulling away and guiding her towards a chair. "But you're also pretty drunk, so why don't you sit down, huh?"

The brunette pouts but plops into the chair, anyway, her hands crossed on her lap. "Now what?"

"Now, I go."

She stretches her bare leg to touch her ankle on my calf, her mini skirt hiking further up her thighs. "But I don't want you to go."

"Too bad," I shrug, and I leave before I do something stupid.

The next door I open, has a narrow set of dark stairs, leading to a basement. And whilst all horror movies warn me not to step into my imminent gloom, I can hear laughter below, and there are lights on. There are people down there for sure. I descend the stairs blindly, and thankfully, when I get to the bottom, lights are shining all over the place.

The pool table is in the middle, some beaten couches are shoved on the side of the paint-peeling walls, and a mini fridge is in the corner. The room isn't very crowded -- I find Max easily playing beer pong on a tabletop, with three others. One of the guys, the one on her side, looks at her in a way that makes me want to punch the daylights out of him. He's all up in her space, prepared leaning on the pool table at an angle that towers over her. He says something, and Max giggles. Actually giggles.

She's way too drunk. Max would never giggle.

"Ryder," I bark, stepping past the other team. I snatch the ball from her hand, and she meets my eyes, her expression morphing into confusion at my appearance.

"Argent!" She exclaims. "What are you here?"

Behind her, the other guy steps closer. "Back off, man."

I ignore him. "Max, come on, we're getting you home."

"No," She pouts. Max – giggling, pouting – it's a jarring thing to witness. Under the haze of alcohol, she still defies me stubbornly, her gaze adamant in refusal. I can't leave her here with this sleazy guy. Max on a regular day off holds her own, but drunk Max? Not so much.

"Yes, you are," I say, more firmly this time. "I know you're mad at me, but you drank too much, and you need to come. I'll drive you home. Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere," she crosses her arms, swaying on her feet. Shit.

"You heard her, man," the other guy adds unhelpfully.

"Not talking to you," I spare him nothing more but a sideways glance.

"Who are you anyway? Her boyfriend? Y'all got into a fight?"

"Yes, we did," Max admits, her eyes still on mine. "He punched one of my best friends."

"Anas hit me first."

"Wait a minute," the guy's widen in recognition. Laughter and mockery laces his tone. "The soccer match tonight? You're Rays! The captain of that pathetic team!"

"He is not pathetic," Max whips around sharply, and the movement causes her to nearly stumble over.

"Easy there, buddy," I grip her waist, and she holds on for support. "Can we go now?"

She shoots the guy a very Max-like glare. "Yes."

"You shouldn't even be here," he mutters.

"We're leaving," I say irreverently and lead Max up the stairs.

"Why'd you come?" She slurs, leaning he read back on my shoulder. Her lush black hair tickles my nape, the soft strands falling on my bare skin.

"You sent a message," I tell her, slowly going up the stairs.

"I know that," she says. "But why come? We fight so much, and you hate me now."

"I don't hate you, Max. I never did, and I never will."

"But Anas –"

"Anas isn't you, is he?"

"No."

"Exactly. What happened on the field is our problem to sort out, you don't ever have to feel like we're fighting."

She bobs her head in understanding.

At the top, we're once again surrounded by students dancing. Holding tight onto Max, I push my way through the buzzed crowd, following a path into the lounge. Music bleeds my eardrums, and my vision swarms, making my focus blurry. There are too many people, and it's too dark to see where to leave.

"Do you know where's the exit?" I practically yell in Max's ear.

"No?"

I sigh, peering into the lounge. A boy sits entwined on the couch with a girl he's kissing, and I recognise the familiar mop of blue-black hair. Oscar and I are friendly enough, but I don't know how cool he'd be if I crashed his party. Or interrupted his make-out session. I need to get out of here before he or one of his more volatile teammates sees me.

"Hey, isn't that your bitchy sister?" Max points out.

"What?" I say tiredly, wondering what she saw now. She's staring at Oscar and his girl, who yeah, has Rouge's long brown hair. But obviously, it's not her.

"Rouge!" Max shouts before I can stop her.

The brunette pulls away from Oscar and stares straight at us – something falls apart in my chest. It is

Rouge. My sister. My twin. When her eyes lock on mine she scrambles out of the couch, and Oscar follows. I'm frozen on the spot my heart racing in my chest. We regard each other across the lounge – a drunken Max, my murderous scowl, Oscar looking abashed and Rouge looking downright ashamed.

"Arge."

"Fuck you, Rouge," I spit. "You told me not to hang out with Max, and this whole fucking time you've been with Oscar?!"

"No, Argent," tears well in her eyes, but I'm not listening.

Oscar steps in front trying to pacify us before there's another fight tonight.

"Dude, c'mon..."

"Out of my way," I growl, shouldering passed him with Max hesitantly following in tow.

When we're outside I breathe in heavily, inhaling fresh air into my tight lungs. I should've never come here tonight.

"I'm sorry," Max mumbles, gingerly putting her hand on my shoulder. "This is all my fault."

A humourless laugh escapes me. "I'm not even going disagree."