My Soul to Keep

14

“LOOK!” I SHOUTED into Nash’s ear, to be heard over the thumping, blaring music. I clutched his arm, unable to tear my horrified gaze from the balloons floating a couple of feet below Fuller’s twelve-foot ceiling. Before Nash had a chance to focus on the problem, I tugged him toward the edge of the crowd, hoping the noise would abate so we could hear each other.

And maybe see more than three feet into the crowd.

Near the edge of the room I let Nash go and nodded toward the foyer, where the bouquet still hovered over the room like a poisonous cloud. What kind of dealer walks right in the front door? But then, I guess it’s hard to be discreet carrying that many balloons.

“That’s Everett, right?” We couldn’t see him, but who else would bring three dozen black balloons to a high school party?

Nash looked up. Blood drained from his face so quickly I wasn’t sure how he remained conscious. He nodded slowly and began making his way through the crowd, still clutching my hand. I tried not to step on too many feet or bump into anyone with my bandaged arm as my heart raced fast enough to leave me light-headed. Everett was here. And we still had no plan.

Nash stopped when we got to the front window and had a clear view into the entryway, and his hand clenched tighter around mine. I followed his swirling gaze to see that the guy holding the balloons wasn’t much older than the crowd—twenty, at the outside—and that he was flanked by two of the most beautiful, eerily flawless girls I’d ever seen.

Between them, Everett, who looked human, was tall and too thin, his slight build only exaggerated by an oversize T-shirt and jeans that barely hung from the points of his hips. I couldn’t help wondering if he would let go of the balloons to pull his pants up if they fell off, which was a definite possibility. Based on the hazy look in his eyes and his death grip on the collection of strings, I would have bet my life the answer was no.

Everett wasn’t just selling; he was using. Though I couldn’t imagine how he stayed sane enough to run his business.

“It’s about time!” Doug called across the room, and I looked up to see him shoving his way through the crowd, dragging Emma behind him. “I have a room set up for you in the back.” Doug’s gaze jumped from the balloons to Everett’s face, his hand twitching at his side. He was hurting—bad—and surely we weren’t the only ones who could see that.

Emma raised both perfectly arched brows as she wandered toward me. “Who’s that?”

“Everett,” I said, desperately wishing I’d been able to keep her away from the party. “Doug’s supplier.”

“Yeah, I puzzled that out on my own. Who are they?” She nodded toward the foyer again and I realized she meant the girls. So I took a closer look and finally realized what was bothering me about them. It wasn’t their surreal beauty—though, for the record, nothing so perfect should ever really exist.

Nor was it the fact that they were identical—not like twins, but like two copies of the same person. The exact same person. Same long, straight, white-blond hair parted on the left, with exactly the same crook halfway down the part. The same black eyes shining like they were lit from within. They had the same brilliant white teeth and exactly the same pale skin with the barest brush of pink on unfreckled cheekbones. And they stood at exactly the same height, with their right legs bent at the knee.

The whole carbon-copy aspect was definitely creepy, but it wasn’t what nagged at the back of my mind, like a skeletal finger tapping my shoulder. What bothered me was their stance. The girls flanked Everett not like arm candy, but like bodyguards.

But I had to be imagining that. Right? What could two slim, unarmed girls in identical white-lace minidresses do in defense of a man six inches taller, with feet the size of small boats?

The crowd parted for Doug and his strange entourage, and they passed through the living room and out of sight in seconds.

“I need another drink,” I said for Emma’s benefit, already moving back into the crowd. Em had figured out who Everett was, but not what he was really selling, and I didn’t want her involved in…whatever was about to go down.

“Let’s go!” I whispered, tugging on Nash’s arm when he made no move to follow me.

Emma shrugged and held up her empty cup. “I could use a refill, too.”

I groaned inwardly, trying to catch Nash’s eye. He finally met my gaze and nodded. He had a plan. But instead of clueing me in, he walked off toward the kitchen, apparently expecting us to follow.

Irritated, I smiled at Emma and wound my way through the crowd after Nash. Several feet from the kitchen, he turned to walk backward, facing us with a glance at Emma’s empty cup. “What are you drink—?”

Nash tripped over his own foot and grabbed the arm of the girl next to him for balance. She squealed and overcompensated, dumping her beer all over Emma’s shirt.

Em screeched and pulled the cold, wet material away from her skin.

“I’m so sorry, Emma!” Nash ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a towel from the counter, then tossed it to her as his eyes met mine, swirling with mischief.

“What if that hadn’t worked?” I whispered, reaching around him to pull a strip of paper towels from a wooden rack.

“Then the keg would have had a malfunction.” He turned back to Emma, faking a concerned expression that made me want to laugh. Until I heard his next words. “Kaylee, your overnight bag’s in the car, right? You have a shirt she can borrow?”

I glared at Nash in a cold wash of comprehension. He wasn’t just trying to get Emma out of the way, he was getting rid of me, too! But I wasn’t going to be pushed out of danger because of some prehistoric sense of chivalry. Nash couldn’t even cross over on his own! He needed me.

My jaw clenched, and I had to force my mouth open to answer the question, as Emma stared at me beseechingly, still holding the front of her drenched top. “Of course.” I dug my keys from my pocket, intending to hand them to her when Nash shot me a warning look and stepped close enough to whisper in my ear, though it probably looked like he was going for a much more intimate contact. “Go with her and keep her out there for a few minutes. I don’t want her to come back looking for us and walk in on something she shouldn’t see or hear. Do you?” he continued, before I could protest.

And I could hardly say no. Keeping Emma out of danger was my idea. I just hadn’t planned on overseeing that part of the plan personally….

I nodded grimly and clenched my keys in my fist, glaring straight at Nash so he could see the anger surely churning in my eyes.

But he only shrugged apologetically, then watched me lead her out the door and into the frigid night, headed toward my car and away from the action—and the answers I was desperate for.

“This f-f-figures,” Emma said, chattering violently as we clacked down the brick driveway. “I actually remembered to bring a change of clothes to work and I got off early. I should have known something would go wrong.” She crossed her arms over her chest in spite of the cold beer probably freezing to her bra at that very moment. “Maybe we should stay at your house tonight, so I can wash the beer out of this shirt before my mom smells it. Or Traci. Traci’s going to kill me.”

“It’s your sister’s shirt?” I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the chill bumps prickling my skin.

“You think my mom would let me buy something like this?” She held her arms out to show off the plunging neckline of the clingy, sparkly top.

When I had the car unlocked, Emma crawled into the backseat and pulled her shirt off while I dug in my bag for the one I’d planned to wear in the morning. It was just a T-shirt, but because I was smaller than Emma up top, it would look much better on her. Unfortunately, for that same reason, she’d either have to go braless or stay cold, wet, and smelly. My spare bra wouldn’t fit her unless she could time-travel back to age twelve.

“Does this look obscene?” Em asked, and I turned to see her pulling my snug, crimson T-shirt into place over her braless chest.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She grinned and glanced at the rearview mirror.

“Do you have a brush in there?” Em nodded at the bag I still held in my lap.

“I forgot it.” I’d packed in a hurry. “But I think Nash keeps a comb in his duffel.” I pointed to the right rear floorboard, where Nash had tossed his gym bag after school.

Emma lifted the bag onto the seat with one hand and laughed. “Not planning to do much reading over the holiday, is he?”

“Not if I can help it.” I grinned, thinking about two straight weeks with nothing to keep us apart but a few shifts at the Cinemark and what little sleep we couldn’t do without. Assuming we ever solved my current sleeping issues.

Emma unzipped the bag. “What’s this? It’s cold.” Something red and shapeless took up half of the duffel. Emma pulled it out with one hand, and her brows rose in confusion.

My next words died in my throat. I could barely breathe around them.

She held a bright red balloon, closed by a weighted black plastic clip.

No. My hand clenched around the back of the front passenger’s seat as I twisted for a better look.

“I thought Nash wasn’t into this.” The surprise in Emma’s voice was a weak echo of the denial I wanted to shout.

“He’s not,” I insisted, in spite of the traitorous voice of doubt in my head and the painful pounding of my heart.

“Everett’s balloons are black.” But that didn’t mean anything. Regardless of color, why else would Nash have a clipped, weighted party balloon in his gym bag? A very cold clipped, weighted party balloon…

It’s not his. Maybe he’d confiscated it from another teammate Doug had sold to. After all, I’d never seen Nash talking to his own shadow or twitching from withdrawal. Nor had I ever smelled Demon’s Breath on him. In fact, I’d only smelled…

Peppermint. When did Nash start chewing gum?

No. He’d helped me get rid of Scott’s first balloon, and…

I sank into the driver’s seat, devastated, as the pieces started to fall into place. I hadn’t actually seen Nash give the balloon to Tod. I’d just assumed he had because he’d said he would.

The mood swings. Aggression. Cold hands. He’d stopped me from telling my dad about Everett. Then he’d sent me outside with Emma instead of letting me confront the dealer.

Nash was using. Tears burned in my eyes. I’d wondered briefly before, then dismissed my suspicion as paranoia. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But I couldn’t deny it now. How could I be so stupid?

“Kaylee?” Emma said, one hand on the back of my seat.

“We have to go. Now.” I started to shove my key into the ignition, then stopped when I remembered the balloon. I would not have that thing in the car with us.

My vision swimming in tears, I twisted and grabbed the balloon from her. “Stay here,” I said, then got out and slammed my door, leaving Emma to stare after me in surprise.

I’d only made it ten steps from the car, my nose already freezing and dripping, when Nash stepped out of Doug’s house and pulled the front door closed. He jogged down the steps and onto the sidewalk, shoving cold-reddened hands into his pockets, then stopped when he saw me.

I wanted to believe his eyes were swirling with something painful—regret, guilt, shame. But the truth was that it was too dark for me to tell.

“Tell me this isn’t yours.” Holding the balloon like a bomb, I stopped about eight feet from him—close enough to read his expression, but not to see his irises—and my stomach flip-flopped painfully. I took a deep breath, so cold it burned my lungs. “Tell me the truth, Nash.”

He flinched and dropped his gaze. So I tried again. “Tell me this isn’t yours.”

Nash sucked in a deep breath and met my gaze. His shoulders slumped and his throat worked furiously, like it was trying to stop whatever he intended to say.

“I can’t, Kaylee. It’s mine.”