Chapter 20

Stevie McGabe

I crack my eyes open, cursing the Stevie of last night who thought it would be a good idea to get drunk on cheap vodka. My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like someone threw up in there. Oh wait, that was me.

The sheets rustle behind me, and last night comes rushing back like an embarrassing slide show. Darryl’s tongue invading my mouth, his thing pressed up deliciously against my core…oh shit! I had finally had my first kiss!

I can’t believe I was drunk when it happened, but I’m so excited at the fact that it was with Darryl. My skin burns with rejection again as his words float back to the front of my mind. “We shouldn’t do this…”

I was pretty sure if he’d let me continue my exploration of his body, I would have done plenty more than just have my first kiss. I roll onto my back, glancing over at the sleeping boy next to me.

He looked younger when he was asleep, all the tension and anger he held in his expression relaxed.

My heart throbbed at the glimpse of my old Darryl; memories of years spent curled up asleep together flooding back. But he doesn’t want me. He made that perfectly clear last night.

I quietly extract myself from his loose embrace, and slip my shoes on, making my way back to my own house. After a long shower and a large glass of orange juice before I scrubbed my teeth, I fell back into my own bed.

After a few minutes tossing and turning, it became apparent that sleep wasn’t going to come and help rid me of this hangover, so with a deep sigh I get back up, unable to stop my eyes from glancing towards Darryl’s bedroom window.

From this angle I can just about see his large figure lying on his bed still. I pull on some semi-clean clothes off the pile on my chair, and grab my phone, wincing as I notice how low the battery is.

“Hey jellybean.”

I smile at the lazy drawl of my best friend. “Hey, Rhea. Any chance you’re not working today?”

“Yeah right,” she barks a sarcastic laugh. Her parents’ Greek restaurant was a full-on family affair; both her and her younger brother, Angelo, spent all their free time doing something for the business. “I’m on delivery duty, but you’re welcome to keep me company in the car?”

I chew my bottom lip, my eyes flicking back to Darryl’s house. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to want to hang out with me today. “Yeah, okay. Cool. Can you come pick me up?”

“I’m in the middle of a drop on the other side of town. Luca is working the kitchens today though; I’ll get him to swing by and collect you. Just hang out at the restaurant ‘til I get back.”

Luca was Rhea’s cousin on her mother’s side. The Italian side. And Luca lived up to the Italian stallion moniker.

He was tall, dark and all kinds of sexy. I’m not drooling, you are! If only he was five years younger, I might have had a chance…and if my stupid heart didn’t still belong to someone else.

“Okay, cool. See you in a bit, girly.”

***

Rhea’s mom, Gabriella, fussed over me while I waited for her to get back from her delivery, plying me with delicious Italian food. Much to the chagrin of her Greek husband. “Every time you cook that food in my kitchen, I get questions from the customers about what smells so good!”

“That’s because Italian food is so much more appetizing than Greek food. I keep telling you we should swap to Italian!” Gaby slaps his hand as he tries to dip his finger in the rich tomato sauce she was stirring. “Christos! Smettila! Stop it, you’ll ruin it!”

He smirks at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, murmuring something in her ear which makes her click her tongue, but she smiles as he walks away from her.

“Hey jellybean.”

Rhea clatters her way into the kitchen, dropping down into the chair next to me as her mom rattles off what I think is an insult in Italian.

“How come you’ve only got make-up on one eye, Re?” I ask with an amused snort as I look over my scatter-brained friend. Her right eye was completely done—eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner…perfect—but her left eye was bare.

“Meh,” she raises one shoulder slowly. “Got bored.” I catch her eye, and we both crack up laughing.

“How the hell did you get bored halfway through doing your makeup?! You’re insane, Rhea.”

“Well, life would be a little more boring without me though, huh?”

“Definitely.”

Christos comes over with a new delivery, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he hands it over. “Come on then. Come experience the joys of being a food delivery person.”

Spending the day driving around with Rhea, getting fed heavenly food by her parents, and joking around with her almost as insane little brother, I was feeling much better. My mind could almost pretend now that last night had never actually happened.

I hadn’t confided in Rhea about the kiss. She was the only person in the entire world who knew my history with Darryl, knew how much I’d wanted to have my first kiss with him.

If she knew what had happened afterwards, she would have stormed straight up to him and knocked him out.

And I mean, knock him the fuck out. She’d done it before to some creepoid who’d gotten a little handsy with me at a party before.

Waving goodbye to her, I can’t help but steal a glance towards the Nelson house. The windows were all dark, only Darryl’s lit up.

I wondered what he’d been doing all day. Whether he had even cared that I was gone when he woke up. Probably not. I let myself in, and trudge upstairs to my room.

Movement across the driveway draws my attention, and I look over just in time to see Darryl stumble across his room before dropping to the floor face first. I can’t help but wince.

That’s gotta have hurt! I wait for him to pick himself back up, but as the minutes start ticking past, a trickle of dread runs down my spine.

I strain to see him, but from this angle I couldn’t get a clear view. Fuck! I run down the stairs, foregoing my shoes as I sprint to his front door. Which was locked. Of course it was!

I hammer on it blindly hoping the noise rouses him but knowing deep down it wouldn’t. I scan around me, trying to see if there was a hiding place for a spare key on the front step, before remembering that my mom had one and sprinting back to my house.

With the key in hand, I unlock their door and race upstairs.

Darryl is still lying on his stomach, his skin pallid and his breathing shallow. There was a small pool of vomit next to him, and as I look round, I spot a bottle of rum, an orange pill bottle and a small plastic baggie.

My limbs feel the blood has drained from them, my hands and feet feeling icy cold as I sweep his hair back off his forehead. “What have you done, Darryl?”

I pat my pockets blindly feeling for my phone, cursing as I realize it had died. Darryl’s is lying on his bed, and I scramble over to it, cursing again as the lock screen taunts me for a passcode.

I try his old one, praying he still uses it, and am rewarded with an unlocked phone. 1208, the day Dimebag Darryl—his namesake—was killed.

With trembling fingers, I punch in 911, and wait for them to answer.