Havoc:Mayhem Series #4(18)

"It was for the best," Danica says without missing a beat. "I regret the  way it happened, but I needed time to grow up. I needed time to realize  what I really want." She links her arm with Mike's, fluttering her long  lashes up at him when he looks down at her. "I never would have  realized what I was missing if I hadn't had time to miss it."

I don't remember her missing him a few weeks ago. I remember her coming  home late from dates with guys from Alpha Cheeto Alpha, her hair a mess  and her mascara smeared. And before that, I'd never heard of Mike. I'd  never heard of Mike Madden or The Last Ones to Know or this eternal love  that Danica claims to have for him.

"Hailey, are you okay?" Rowan suddenly asks, and my stomach makes a  noise that can only be described as the avenging battle cry of the  cheese-mayo-mustard sandwich I just ate.

"I feel like I'm going to puke."

"You're not the only one," Dee grumbles as Mike loosens himself from  Danica to lean forward and study my nauseous face. I scramble to my feet  because I am absolutely, definitely going to hurl.

"You're probably seasick," Mike says. I'm on my feet with my hands  gripping my knees when he wraps his fingers around my biceps, and I  nearly jump out of my skin. "Let's get you off this pond."

"I'll come with you," Danica peeps as Mike leads me from the platform.  She's rising to her feet when I hear Shawn call behind us.

"Wait!" A brief pause. "I . . . actually wanted to talk to you about your idea for the music video . . ."

Danica's footsteps stop echoing off the dock, and I want to look back to  see if she's still following us, but I'm too busy holding my hand over  my mouth and letting Mike haul me toward dry land. We step off the dock,  we walk through the grass, and when our group looks like nothing but  tiny figurines in the distance, Mike finally releases my arm.

"Are you okay?" He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, the breeze  covering me with the subtle scent of his cologne. His eyes are shadowed  under the brim of his cap, and something about the perfect shape of his  jaw makes my stomach cave in on itself.

I shake my head. My arms feel weak. I'm pretty sure he needs to stop touching me.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Mike asks, and I glance back to our group. Back to where Danica is.                       
       
           



       

I probably shouldn't, but I nod. I nod my head yes, and I walk with him into the woods.





Chapter 12




I'm lost. Walking alongside Mike, I'm completely, hopelessly lost. I'm a  million thoughts scrambling for purchase in my head. I'm the icy wind  and the restless leaves and the erratic pulse hammering wildly under my  skin.

I focus on my one-size-too-big boots, stepping carefully over rocks and  branches and untamed weeds. We don't speak. We just walk. We walk while I  concentrate on the cyclone churning in my stomach and the storm brewing  in my chest. We walk until my nausea subsides and I can finally gaze  over at him without tripping over my own feet.

With his eyes cast down at the decaying orange carpet rolled out before  us, he seems just as distracted as me-here, but not here. His thick  lashes are lowered over thoughtful eyes, his black and green cap hiding  his face from the fading October sun. I wish I knew all of the silent  thoughts locked inside his head, and I must stare at him a little too  long trying to figure them out, because without looking away from the  invisible path he's following, Mike says, "This is weird, right?"

Does he mean us walking alone in the woods? Or the fact that Danica  stopped following us? Or the middle-of-the-wilderness pond in general?  Or maybe him being a rock star in redneck country? Or his band making a  big music video? Or-

He gazes over at me when I take too long trying to figure out what he's talking about. "Hanging out. You and me."

Does he mean because of Danica? Is this weird? Is it wrong? Should we go back? Should I-

Mike slides his cap off to scratch his hand through his hair, and then  he pulls it back on. "It's weird hanging out face to face, isn't it?  After gaming together all the time. You're one of my best friends now,  but we only really hung out that one time a couple weeks ago."

He waits for me to answer, but all I can manage to say is exactly what I'm thinking. "I'm one of your best friends?"

Mike's gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer before sliding away. He  pushes his loose sleeves up to his elbows and concentrates hard on where  he's walking, and then he looks over at me, and the corner of his mouth  twitches into a self-deprecating smile.

"I sound like the biggest loser on the planet right now, don't I?"

In the middle of a cold autumn day, a summer warmth stretches its rays  inside of me. He looks so sincere, so vulnerable, and I ignore all of  the self-doubt twined tight in my belly to assure him, "You're one of my  best friends too."

Mike's lips curve into a soft smile. He pulls his hat off and folds it  into his back pocket, his hair a wild, abandoned mess. "Good, that means  I'm not pathetic."

"I'm pretty sure that just means we're both pathetic," I say, and he  laughs a laugh that makes my cheek muscles hurt from trying not to  smile. He hasn't laughed like that all day, and I didn't realize how  tired the day had seemed without the sound of it.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, stepping on a sprawling pricker bush  with his big boot so I can walk over it. He takes my hand to help me  over a fallen tree.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to head back?"

With one leg dangling on the other side of the tree trunk and my hand still in Mike's, I sit and ask, "What else would we do?"

My heart jackhammers against my ribs even after he releases my hand. I  press my palms against the rough bark, wishing I could dissolve into it  to escape the last five words out of my mouth. I didn't mean for it to  come out sounding so . . . dangerous. It feels dangerous, that question,  and I wish I could take each word back, but I can't, because there they  are, hanging in the air.

What else would we do? Nothing.

Not go for a walk like I might with Rowan. Not climb trees like I might with Kit. Not chase clouds like I might with Luke.

Nothing. Nothing.

Mike's eyes hold mine, and mine hold his, and when thunder cracks like a whip through the forest, I nearly fall off the log.

One raindrop falls while I steady myself. And then another. And another.

"Shit," Mike hisses, turning his eyes up to the invisible threat  slithering through dark clouds in an even darker sky. We're far from the  pond now, which means we're really, really far from the cars. Which  means we're going to get absolutely drenched-if we don't get struck by  lightning or have a tree fall on us first.                       
       
           



       

Mike lowers his chin and wipes wet droplets from his forehead. "When I  was up here last year for that party, I found an old cabin. I think it's  the way we're heading."

"You think?"

"It should be close." The corners of my mouth turn down, and Mike tugs  his cap from his back pocket. "Do you want to try for it?" he asks,  twisting his hat onto my head.

The question remains in his eyes even as lightning snakes across the sky. Another crack, another flinch, more rain.

"And you're pretty sure it's this way?" I ask, tucking my frizzing hair behind my ears.

Mike nods, but his expression doesn't look confident. "I think so . . . but I could be getting us lost."

I cling to the log and worry my lip, and Mike watches me cling to the log and worry my lip.

"Let's go for it," I finally say, swinging my leg to the other side of  the fallen tree. I drop to the solid earth and wait for his feet to hit  the ground next to mine.

Mike leads the way, and I follow him deeper into the woods. I follow him  through lightning and thunder. I follow him through weeds and mud. I  follow him even when the sky breaks open and unleashes hell on us.

I'm running ahead of him a couple minutes later, when the rain is  beating us unmercifully to death. Each swollen drop feels like it's been  shot from the sky. I'm pelted again and again as I do my best to race  through the trees, slipping on wet grass and narrowly avoiding being  eaten alive by bushes with teeth. "We're going to die because of you!"

Each strike of lightning is a heart attack in my chest as my lungs  struggle to pump oxygen into my legs. I'm in the woods, lost, in the  middle of a storm that's howling and raging like a living beast. I'm  being drowned by rain.

"I'm sorry!" Mike shouts, but he doesn't sound very sorry.

"Are you laughing?!"

"I'm sorry!" Mike yells again, this time laughing in earnest.