Never Ever

16| Stupid drunk

Peter's arms shoot out to stop me from toppling over. "And what exactly," he says, his grin too big for his face, "were you doing in a closet, Ever?"

I open my mouth and close it again, about to tell some elaborate lie, when Noah walks out. He takes one look at Peter with his hands on my shoulders and narrows his eyes.

Peter, to his credit, is the epitome of casualness. He drops his hands from my shoulders and turns, flashing a crooked smile. "I guess now it makes sense."

I shudder at what Peter thinks Noah and I were doing in there, because he couldn't be more wrong. "It's not what you think," I say, but when I rack my brain for an obvious reason as to why we were in a closet, no good answer comes to mind. "Peter, this is my friend, Noah," I say to deflect, and Noah winces. "Noah, this is Peter. We went to school together in Maybury."

For maybe half a second, Noah's eyes soften. He knows better than anyone how hard I've been trying to escape my past, so he'll know how difficult it was to face someone from my town. His shoulders ease as his gaze flits from Peter to me, clearly deliberating something.

"We've met," Noah says, his voice clipped. My heart thumps, and I'm certain from the look in his eye that he's about to do something stupid when he says, "Enjoy the party," and pushes through the crowd.

Even though it's absurd, the tiniest hint of rejection runs through me. Noah's treating me as if I've done something wrong, as if we're not just friends, and it's driving me crazy. While I get he and Peter are on opposite teams, he has no right to be mad at me for it.

I turn to Peter and force a smile, my stomach suddenly in knots. "I'm sorry about that. Just know it's not you - he's been like this all day."

Peter brushes it off like it's nothing and guides me toward the kitchen. "Oh, it's one hundred percent me," he says, grinning. "Hell, I'm kind of surprised that was it."

I frown and say, "What do you mean?"

The corner of his mouth tilts wryly. "I'm not exactly proud of this, but right before our last meet, we nearly got into a fight. Pretty sure I told him the next time I saw him, I'd punch him in his pretty boy face."

To say I'm surprised is an understatement. From what I've seen, Noah isn't the type to walk away from a challenge, which makes me wonder why he did it - or who he did it for. I suddenly feel sorry for him, even though every fiber of my body screams not to. It's clear he's having a terrible day, and seeing Peter in his apartment after their last exchange must be the icing on the cake.

"You want a drink?" Peter scans the various bottles on the counter and picks up the vodka before grabbing two solo cups.

I can feel the air leaving my lungs, heavy and labored. Just like that, I'm back in that kitchen, picturing Peter pouring me those shots. Sometimes, when I really want to torture myself, I sit and wonder which choice I'd change if I could go back in time. Would it be the moment I chose to take those shots? To accept the bet? Either one would probably have changed the future, but the former is what I obsess over.

"Ever."

My eyes snap to Peter as he hands me the cup. The distinct smell of vodka tickles my nose, burning the back of my throat. I stare back at him, unmoving, and am hit with this sinking feeling. I thought out of everyone, Peter understood, but I was wrong.

I put down the cup and smile. "Actually, I don't drink."

"Since when?" Peter asks. I don't answer, and his eyes soften when it clicks. "Really? Not once?"

I shake my head, suddenly feeling sick. The last thing I want is to think about that night, but now it feels like I'm trapped there, reliving it all over again. "Let's just dance or something."

Peter frowns as if he finds this incredulous, which floods me with shame. It may be dramatic, but avoiding the things that got me in trouble made sense at the time, and now they're the only thing holding me together.

"C'mon, Ev," he says, tucking my hair back. "You can't live your life like that forever. There's not even a pool here. You're safe with me."

I look up suddenly, my eyes meeting his. Some part of me feels like I should automatically believe it. Peter saved my life once before, which means theoretically, I should trust him, but I know what safe feels like: I'd felt it in Noah's arms when he took me to the deep end: warm and secure, like even if my hands slipped, he'd be there to catch me; I don't feel that way right now.

The thought of Noah triggers this instinct to find him. I scan the apartment, searching for his face in the crowd, but finding anyone is impossible. The place is packed, littered with solo cups and gyrating bodies.

"More for me, I guess," Peter says and pours himself a drink.

Panic rises through me, but not because of Peter. It suddenly hits me that if Noah isn't here, he's probably upstairs, drunk and near a pool. I scan the room again, praying I'm wrong. Praying he wouldn't be that stupid.

Not like I was.

"Earth to Ever."

I'm barely listening as Peter waves a hand in my face. Maybe it's textbook avoidance, but all I'm concerned about right now is Noah. Stupid, reckless Noah. "I'll be right back," I say, pushing through the crowd.

The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. I can see the condensation on the windows, and the walls are vibrating with the music. I'm getting increasingly anxious, convinced Noah's about to suffer the same fate unless I find him in time, which is ridiculous. More than ridiculous - it's tragic.

The crowds of people make it nearly impossible to move. I can feel the sweat on my forehead as I push past another group of people, trying to find him in the crowd. But it's useless - the mass of bodies is too dense, and I'm trapped in this sea of sweaty students.

Through a gap in the crowd, I catch a glimpse of the living room. Addy sits perched on Jesse's knee, whispering something in her ear that makes me blush. I scan the space beside Jesse for Noah, but all I find is Pax.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. He's most likely in his bedroom or back in the closet with some poor girl, and if I had any sense, I'd leave him to it, but the thought does little to help. The panic is still there, bubbling just beneath the surface. If he's not here, there's only one place he can be.

Without thinking, I slip into the hallway. As soon as I close the door, the sudden hush of the quiet hallway surrounds me, calming my pounding heart.

Still, I'm bracing myself for the worst. My stomach is in knots, on the verge of nausea, and now all I can think about as I step into the elevator is, what if it's too late?

You're being ridiculous. Noah is fine. But even taking into account my logic, something about this feels wrong. Noah isn't himself tonight; he's upset, drunk, and near a pool; that's a deadly combination.

I exit onto the rooftop, where the warm, sticky air of the party is replaced by a crisp breeze. Everything is still, quiet, save for the faint sound of San Francisco traffic below, exactly how things should be.

My panic lessens as I turn to the pool. It's aglow with a soft, ethereal light that shimmers across the water's surface, casting intricate patterns on the walls. If I weren't at this party and wearing a dress, I'd be tempted to go for a swim.

As it stands, Noah's lack of presence is enough to reassure me. I'm about to turn and head back to the party when I glance at the nearest lounger, where his clothes are neatly folded in a pile. Throat burning, I turn back to the pool, frantically searching the water again. That's when I see it, a dark, mottled figure in the corner of the deep end, still and unmoving.

Noah.

A/N

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P.S. If you want more insight into what Noah's going through, don't forget to check out his last exclusive chapter, 'Crazy Jealous.'