Toxic Part One Page 5

  Gage swishes around like a blur, producing a glass of water from a beaker, and I swill the liquid in my mouth. The thought occurs to me the beaker probably has the chief function of housing eyeballs, extracted dental fillings that Dr. Oliver might be selling for gold on the side, or God forbid, strange bodily fluids that ooze from the deceased, and I puke like a fountain.

  Gage glances at his phone. “I’ll be back.” He no sooner evaporates then he reappears with his father.

  “Good God, child.” Dr. Oliver’s face is white with shock.

  “I’ve already converted the oil base.” Marshall strides up with a hypodermic needle. “The smoothie wasn’t to her liking.”

  Gage helps douse the vomit fire out of my lap with a dozen tiny towels.

  “I’ll get you some clothes.” He looks up at me, his face veiled in pain. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He disappears before I have the chance to properly hurl on him.

  I never wanted him to hurt me either.

  “Her complexion is ashen, and her pulse is weak,” Barron says, replacing my wrist in my lap. “If the shot doesn’t work, I’ve no choice but to run her to the emergency room.”

  Marshall flicks at a tiny vial with his finger and a squirt of liquid jumps from the needle.

  I hold my arm out and look away. I hate shots but if it’ll let me spin on this planet just a little bit longer, it’s totally worth it.

  “Oh, dear Skyla.” Marshall swims with glee. “That’s not where I’m making the deposit.”

  I dart a quick look to Barron, and he shakes his head.

  Marshall gives a lewd smile as he trails his hand down my body and lifts the back of my makeshift dress well past my thigh.

  Crap.

  Just Crap.

  ***

  Once he administers the horrifically humiliating and equally painful septic dose, Marshall rights me and cloaks his body around mine for a brief second.

  “I’m afraid my soothing effects will negate the results we’re looking for.” He presses a sweet kiss into my ear as his pleasurable sensations course through me. “I must leave at once.” Marshall tenderly sweeps his thumb over my cheek. “I can’t bear to witness my beloved in pain.” He pulls back, exposing Gage standing there holding a pair of my jeans and a sweater. “I bid you take her home at once.” He glances over at him. “Don’t leave her side. Though she loathes the very sight of you and wishes you seeped in a vat of boiling oil—she needs you more than ever.” And with that, Marshall explodes out of the room in a thunderclap.

  “Why would Skyla loathe you?” Dr. Oliver creases his brow at his son, perfectly stymied how a love like ours could ever go wrong. “Skyla, you have less than a minute to get dressed before the full effect takes place. I’ll call later to see how you’re doing.” He nods before leaving the room.

  Great. It’s just Gage and me and my body, the ticking time bomb.

  I make Gage turn around while I pull on my jeans and sweater. I muster the energy to glance in the mirror just above the hand sink.

  Gah!

  I’m hideous!

  Raccoon eyes have invaded my face courtesy of faulty mascara, and my hair is balled up in a giant bird’s nest, big enough to house an eagle.

  “I look horrible,” I announce mostly to myself.

  “You look beautiful.” Gage turns his head just enough when he says it.

  “Wow, Chloe must have paid you a bundle.”

  Gage turns around once he’s surmised I’m fully dressed, like he didn’t strip me clean the first chance he got last year after I passed out in his truck—pervert.

  “Chloe didn’t pay me a penny,” he says, tucking his cheek back in frustration.

  “Nice to know you’d stab me in the back for free.”

  “You know I wouldn’t do that.” It comes out sweet, like an elongated song that reverberates its tragedy.

  “I don’t know you at all. You’re worse than a stranger.” I’m quick to correct.

  The room sways. I grip the side of the stainless sink as my stomach seizes in painful knots.

  I let out a childlike cry that burns as it razors out of my throat.

  Gage picks me up in one fell swoop.

  A horrible, biting pain rips through my abdomen.

  “I’ve got you,” he soothes. “It’s going to be OK.”

  My body starts in on a series of violent convulsions.

  Gage is wrong.

  Nothing will ever be OK again.

  Chapter 8

  Livin’ on a Prayer

  The sky over the Landon house spins in a color palette of grey, as Gage rotates us in the direction of the front door.

  Fat cumulous clouds dusted in soot hibernate above, their lining embalmed in a fairytale blue. They hold a covenant with the heavens to pour down their blessings over the island within minutes. They make promises and know how to keep them.

  An uncontrollable shiver runs through me. My teeth chatter with such violent force I’m convinced I’m chipping them in the process.

  “Let’s get you to bed.” Gage runs me up the porch. The front door sits slightly ajar, and we find Tad sorting through a pile of sleeping bags in the entry.

  “Aha!” He straightens. With his hair graying on the sides, and the severe spare tire around his waist, he doesn’t look like he has a whole lot to aha about at the moment. “Mia and Melissa said you haven’t been home all night. I knew you were off in some seedy motel room. I have news for the two of you. Prom is not some fornicating bonanza that lets you forgo your morals. Just because you spent seven or eight hours groping each other on the dance floor does not make it OK to lock yourselves in a room and let loose.”

  It takes a heroic effort for me not to hurl some serious projectile vomit in his direction—and I’m completely capable, I can feel it.

  “Sorry,” Gage offers. “We were watching the sunrise at Rockaway. It’s sort of a tradition around here. We must have fallen asleep.” Gage looks down at me, warms me with his eyes.

  “By the way,” Tad says, barreling past Gage and his excuse with his own verbose agenda, “Melissa said that crazy teacher of yours came storming in this morning looking for some brochures your mother promised, and he broke the mirror I gave her for our anniversary. Who the hell goes into someone else’s bedroom looking for marketing material?”

  “He’s a complete idiot.” Gage affirms with a nod.

  “Finally,” Tad shouts, “someone who sees him the way I do. You’d think he has everyone else under some kind of spell the way the entire island yields to his charm.”

  I hate to interrupt this precious bonding session between Tad and Gage over, of all things, their shared disinterest in Marshall, but everything in me feels as though it’s going to pop from the unearthly amount of pressure brewing in my belly.

  I let out a harrowing moan.

  “Skyla’s not feeling so good.” Gage starts toward the stairs.

  My stomach sears with a flash of pain, and I bury my face in Gage’s chest. He smells good, familiar—and strangely safe. He tries to make a break for my bedroom, but Tad blocks his path.

  “Oh, she’s sick is she?” Tad snickers. “A little too much booze filtering through the liver, hey? I’ll have you know Drake had his baby last night while the two of you were off cavorting. If my guess is right, we’ll be hitting the maternity ward once again in about nine months’ time—and it won’t be for me.” He mutters something about missing his wallet and continues to riffle through the camping discards splayed out all over the entry.

  “Congratulations.” Gage speeds past him. “You enjoy that new grandbaby. I’ll hang out with Skyla and make sure she’s OK.”

  “I bet you will.” Tad’s voice bellows up after us.

  Gage lands us inside my room at superhuman speeds, pushes my dresser over the door with his shoe, easy as sliding a book.

  He doesn’t say anything—simply wraps me in my comforter and grabs the tiny trashcan under my desk before teleporting us up to the butterfl
y room.

  The soft swish of tissue paper wings greets us as I double over in agony and let out an anguished cry.

  For a brief moment, I thought maybe he was bringing me up here to draw on serendipity, that the romantic implications of it all would somehow bring me back to him. But now I see the practicality involved as well as the puke bucket I’m sure to put to good use.

  He pulls me onto his lap and drags his lips from my cheek to my ear. I can feel the heat emanating off his body, his heart beating up against me with its smooth percussion. I thought we’d grow old like this—that his lust for me would hold out for ages.

  “Throw up if you need to. Don’t hold back.”

  Not quite the words I was hoping he’d say—then again, he’s not quite the person I thought he was.

  Strong, grinding pain gnarls my insides, incapacitating my ability to think or speak. My mouth opens, and I try to scream or breathe. It’s all too much to bear—such blinding hot pain—nothing but a violent rush of excruciating agony.

  Gage rocks me in his arms, prays over me with fervent whispers—invokes the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit as if he were performing an exorcism. Gage begs for a divine mercy that never comes.

  I thrash and writhe, land my lips on the flesh of his neck and linger for a moment. Something about his being offers me respite in the midst of this incomprehensible storm.

  A flash of pain ignites through my skull, and I buck uncontrollably until Gage—the butterfly room—it all fades to nothing.

  ***

  My lids flutter as a pale blur warbles in and out of focus from above. I give several hard blinks and find Gage gazing down at me. His dimples dig in and assure me I’ve survived the mortal assault Marshall commandeered against my body. I wrap my arms around him and inhale his scent. I miss the perfume of his skin. I miss everything about Gage with a terrible ache.

  “How do you feel?” He outlines my jaw with his thumb.

  “Like killing you.” It comes out maudlin, and sad, and only a tiny bit true. I sit up and marvel at what little effort it takes. “Hey, I do feel better.” A strange tingling sensation filters through to the ends of my fingers all the way to my toes. Something’s different. Something’s all together off about this new me. “Looks like you shot those prayers off in the right direction.”

  I take in a smooth breath and feel my energy level rise.

  “Here.” Gage produces a soda that I keep as a part of my stash and extends it to me like an olive branch.

  I hesitate before taking it from him, then down it like I haven’t had a drink in ages. I let the carbonation burn through my esophagus and fill my stomach with the tepid liquid as I pour it down my throat.

  “Thank you,” I pant.

  Gage and I stare at one another a very long time. We drip with honey-sweet sadness. You could spill us out over the black, sparkling floor of the butterfly room, we were spent, not one emotion left in us—broken beyond our years.

  “I can’t bear that I’ve hurt you, Skyla.”

  “I can’t bear that you’ve hurt me, Gage.” I say it soft, just this side of tears. I’ve hurt Gage before—badly wounded him, but this was a betrayal that swept us off our feet. It sailed us further apart than any grievance could ever have had the power to do.

  “Let me tell you everything.” He gives it in a heated whisper directly into my ear. It brings back that dream I had the first night in the tunnels—Gage and me interlaced beneath the sheets—his sweltering body pressed against mine.

  “Not now.” Not ever is what I really should have said. The last thing in the world I want to hear is how Gage and Chloe converged in a union to deceive me. “Can I ask you something?” I turn to face him fully.

  “Anything.” His eyes widen with hope. Gage looks as if he would trade the world for another chance at what we had.

  “You gave me this ring.” I look down at the tiny silver band, the sapphire cut into a heart set in the middle. It glistens underneath the light, happy in its ignorance. It spells out his deception with every sparkle. “You said you’d love me forever.” I shake my head. “You loved me, Gage. I could feel it, but you let everything we built that love upon lay over a foundation of some pact you made with Chloe—Chloe.”

  Gage closes his eyes. Remorse pours from him, heavy and smothering.

  “I don’t want you to say anything.” A knot the size of a fist locks up my throat. “Right now I’d just really like for you to leave.”

  Gage takes in a breath and gives a reluctant nod.

  “Just know that I love you. I would die for you.” He leans in. “To die for you would be an honor, Skyla.” He brings my hand up to his lips and brushes it with a kiss.

  Gage evaporates slower than I ever thought possible, makes me wonder if he’s left a part of himself behind.

  I sort of wish he did.

  Chapter 9

  Baby Phat

  In the morning, I stare out at the dark, prominent shield draped over Paragon. I search for signs of Nevermore, his thick ebony plumes glossed to perfection from the swirling fog. It would be a pleasure to see him stretched out in full wingspan, but there’s not one sign of my fine-feathered friend.

  I shower and dress. The bruise that wrapped around my neck like a bright green ring has already dissipated. I feel renewed, refreshed at the thought of heading over to the hospital to visit Brielle and Drake’s love child, baby Beau.

  I still can’t believe my best friend had my stepbrother’s baby at prom, in the parking lot no less, with Gage at the helm of the delivery.

  It brings the curve of a smile to my face, and I’m almost happy at the thought of being an aunt. Almost. Gage pummeled my heart and now it seems impossible to soar with joy ever again.

  I drive downtown just missing the oncoming storm and purchase flowers from the gift shop before taking the elevator up.

  On the maternity ward, a large glass window stretches out for an infinite expanse, shielding a row of tiny newborns nestled tight in white flannel blankets.

  Logan stands in the center of the hall with his hand pressed against the window.

  “Hey you.” I brush my lips just beneath his ear and take him in. Logan is a testament to all that’s true and right in this world—plus he’s hotter than a bonfire.

  “Skyla.” He offers a brief hug and winces.

  “You’re in pain. Your blood should’ve healed you.” I lament, rubbing my fingers against his perfect jaw.

  “It did, for the most part.”

  I wrap my arms gingerly around him again and refuse to let go. “I love you so much. I’m sorry they hurt you.”

  “Skyla, it’s you they hurt, not me.” The line down his cheek inverts and magnifies my attraction to him. It’s from the cut I gave him with a root beer bottle so many months ago. Who knew by trying to injure him, I’d only inflict him with more sexiness? “I’m the one who’s sorry.” He punctuates it with a kiss over my temple.

  “We’ll get through this,” I say, pulling back and taking in his Adonis-like perfection. “We can make it through anything this life throws at us as long as we stick together.”

  He clouds over with the slight look of agony. “And we will be—together.” He offers without remorse. Logan looks back at the tiny sleeping bundles with their wrinkled faces, each with its own button nose. “They’re so beautiful.” He warms my back with his hand. “Can you imagine something so perfect coming from two people who love each other? I want that one day,” he rasps the words out, “with you, Skyla.”

  My heart thumps unnaturally.

  Tears come to me unexpected as we observe the sea of glowing faces. One of the tiny beings blinks to life, and his gaze wanders.

  “I want that, too.” I press my lips into Logan’s cheek and mean every word.

  “You look terrific, by the way,” he says, dusting my neck with his thumb while observing my injuries. “Was it bad?”

  “A little worse than that.” I swallow hard trying to deflect thoughts
of Gage holding me through the night. “You see Brielle yet?”

  “Yeah, I was just taking off for the bowling alley. I gotta see for myself what carnage Kragger may have caused—see what level of damage control I’m in for.” He leans in. “Those tunnels—we can’t let that happen again. I won’t take you down there.”

  “They’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  “They are killing you,” he says it sharp, angry. “Talk to Dudley, see if there’s a way out of this. I’ll see what I can do on my own.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head and starts heading out.

  “Wait, what do you mean on your own?”

  “Never mind. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Logan!”

  “I promise we’ll figure this out. Nothing’s impossible.”

  I shake my head at his words. I’m pretty sure the Counts have figured out a way to swallow the impossible.

  ***

  Inside Brielle’s hospital room, there’s a party-like atmosphere.

  Brielle sits on the bed with her copper hair gnarled up in a ball reminiscent of the do I was sporting just last night. Mom sits beside her while Drake, Tad, and Ethan sit on the tiny sofa facing a giant flat screen, soaking in a basketball game.

  “Congratulations!” I spring over to the bed and offer her one long, rocking hug. “Are you OK? Is the baby OK?”

  “We’re both fine,” she says, plucking the blanket off her chest. “I’m nursing.”

  “Oh my God! I almost killed it!” I gasp.

  “Relax, Drake already dropped him.” She tries to yank him away from her body and her nipple stretches elastic like a gummy bear. “Lizbeth, get this critter some food, my boobs are on fucking fire,” she snipes. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m a little cranky, what with no sleep and all.”

  “Right, hon.” Mom jumps up and offers me a brief hug. “How was prom?”

  “So overrated.” I roll my eyes without meaning to.

  “Oh, don’t say that.” Mom sags with disappointment. “You’ll get to college and wish they had those special boy-girl get-togethers.”