Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

2 The Five of Us, Together Forever

2

The Five of Us, Together Forever

T urn that fucking music off,” somebody shouted, and Billie Eilish’s broody croon cut off. The chirping insects in the trees surrounding us grew unbearably loud for the few seconds during which no one spoke.

I rubbed a hand roughly across my face, trying to spur myself into action.

For the dozens of us at the party, all future seniors and some juniors, the night was supposed to end in laughs, shenanigans, hookups, and finally, hangovers before the grind of school started back up. Nothing like this was supposed to happen, especially not to one of my own.

I swallowed thickly, blinking away images of Brady’s body bent over a pillar, the foundation of some structure that never got erected, his arms and legs hanging down it like vines. The cement supported his torso while the thick rebar jutted through the entirety of his upper body. Pierced him straight through.

I hadn’t seen his face. His head was draped down the back of the column, his usual skullcap beanie on the ground, jarred free upon impact.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, what the hell do we do?” whined a feminine voice I didn’t bother trying to place.

Usually our crew would take charge of a situation like this one, probably rushing forward to administer CPR or to check Brady’s pulse even though there was no way he could have survived the accident. We’d be the ones to figure out the next steps and to move quickly through them, directing the others as needed.

My thoughts were sluggish when they needed to be faster than ever. Layla would be needing me. Hell, Griffin and Hunt would be freaking out too. The fact that none of them were checking on me was evidence that shock was racking them as violently as it was me.

“He’s got no pulse,” a classmate by the name of Zoe Wills announced, her voice even despite a panic so thick I sensed it vibrating against my bare arms, skimming the dip in my shirt across my chest, encroaching toward my heart. “There’s not much blood. The steel must be holding it back.”

“Jones, call your dad,” our starting wide receiver snapped.

“I can’t.” Wade Jones’s voice was tremulous in a way I’d never heard it before. “I snuck out. I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m already grounded for-fucking-ever. My dad’ll kill me if he finds me at a party.”

“Dude, seriously? Who cares if you’re fucking grounded. Brady’s dead . Do you get that?”

Still staring out into a darkness so deep it could swallow me up if I let it, I didn’t watch the scene. Even with my back turned to them, I could feel the impact of Brady’s fate slamming into Wade.

“Right, right. Yeah, of course,” Wade said as if on autopilot. “I’m an idiot. I’ll call my dad now.”

“Leave it, man,” Reed Carter said with his usual gravel. “Get out of here. I’ll call my dad. He’ll call yours.”

“Okay, cool. Yeah,” Wade stuttered, but it didn’t sound like he cared about his punishment anymore.

But Reed’s dad was a sheriff’s deputy, and it wasn’t like speed of response mattered. There was nothing that could be done to save Brady.

“Dad?” Reed’s voice faded as he walked away. “I’m okay, Dad. Yeah, fine. But something real bad happened.” A pause while Reed listened. “At a party at the Fischer House. Uh-uh. Nope. An accident. Brady Rafferty got hurt, and, Dad … he’s dead.”

Hearing Reed summarize the situation so succinctly yanked me out of my shock. Spinning, I scanned the scene quickly for my friends. Layla, face pale in the camping lanterns set up on the back porch, was staring blankly at Brady’s body, a hand against the cement beside him as if it were all that was propping her up. I started walking toward her, searching for Griffin and Hunt.

Amid the big chunks of terracotta tiles, cement, and twisted rebar from the balcony, the two whispered harshly at each other. When Griffin flicked a homicidal glare at Rich, who sat, jaw slack, next to the broken pieces of the balcony, I knew what Griffin would do next. I changed directions, stalking toward them, stepping over more refuse from parties past and detritus from the forest. This place was half civilized, half savage.

In steps so quick that Rich didn’t see the attack coming, Griffin jumped him, wrapping an arm around his neck and slamming him against the dirt so hard that the dull thump rang out over the sudden excited chatter.

Hunt was fast enough to interfere before Griffin threw the first punch, and he was definitely quick enough to stop the second. He didn’t though, moving slowly, telling me that he also felt like punishing the prick who’d indirectly thrown Brady onto that rebar.

Screams and grunts marked my paces as I lined up next to Griffin, barely out of reach. He would never hurt me on purpose, but right then, with his mouth screwed up into a hateful sneer, I wasn’t sure how much he was registering beyond his fury and loss.

“Griff,” I said, forcing his name out even though I wrestled between the urges to pull him off Rich and to shove him out of the way so I could be the one to pummel the asshole instead.

Rich, for the first time since I’d known him, didn’t fight back. He brought up his arms to protect his face but didn’t retaliate.

“Griffin!” I snapped. Griffin didn’t react, as if he didn’t even hear me. I’d always been able to get through to him before. Even when the others couldn’t, I could.

Griffin punched Rich in the gut, then pulled back, suddenly seeming to realize that Rich wasn’t defending himself. Hunt finally swooped in to restrain Griffin, but his efforts were half-hearted. Duncan and some of the other football players helped Rich up but didn’t say anything.

None of us were reacting like we usually would. I feared that Brady’s death had broken us all. Already, I felt hollow inside. Brady’s dead kept running through my thoughts in the background, like a disembodied chant turned low, but even so, I couldn’t quite finish absorbing the truth of it.

Brady just couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t .

I felt Griffin’s eyes on me and glanced up to meet them. They flashed with so much emotion, so much devastation, that even though they were as dark as the forest, they still somehow reminded me of a lightning storm. A lethal one.

A glance at Hunt revealed a hard jaw and even harder eyes. He didn’t so much as blink as he stared back at me, his nostrils flaring a couple of times as he attempted to steady his breathing, his arms loose around Griffin as if he wouldn’t bother stopping him if he were to pound on Rich again.

“Shit. Layla,” I muttered under my breath. This time, though I spoke softly, Griffin reacted, shaking off Hunt’s hands and stalking toward her, snatching my hand up as he passed me. Hunt was a step behind us.

Anyone standing between us and Layla slunk out of our way. People gathered in pockets toward the side of the house, behind Rich, and far away from Brady.

Reed appeared from the opposite direction, pocketing his phone. “My dad’s calling it in now. Emergency services will be here in fifteen or twenty.”

As if the Fischer House were cursed, no one had built in the immediate area after it was abandoned. There was still plenty of acreage to be had in Ridgemore, where no particular industry had claimed the town as its home. The fire department was located on the opposite end, beyond a short line of quaint boutique stores that catered more to the occasional visitor than to locals.

“He’s gonna hurry them, just in case,” Reed added, before casting a hopeless look at Brady, whose body hadn’t so much as twitched since I’d been studying it.

I wanted to thank Reed for doing what we should have done, but no words came out. Hunt nodded at him in silent bro communication. Reed dipped his chin in response, then went to join the others, leaving us alone with Brady.

Griffin, Hunt, and I stepped closer to Layla. Sucking in my first deep breath since it all happened, I placed a hand on her back. She shook at my touch but didn’t turn.

“Lay,” I whispered.

Her shoulders trembled as she ran a hand along Brady’s leg, her fingers featherlight on his jeans.

“I…” I started, but then had no idea what to say. That it couldn’t be real? That I wanted to scream my lungs out until this stupid world delivered us a better outcome? One where Brady walked out of here with us tonight?

In the end, I leaned my head on her shoulder and said nothing. Griffin wrapped an arm around both of us, and Hunt did the same from our other side.

Huddled like that, with our backs to everyone, we stood for a long time, unmoving, weighed down by the heaviness of life … and death. The chasm that sliced through the balcony was nothing compared to the break pulling apart my heart, bit by wretched bit.

Eventually, Reed told the others, “Come on, guys. Let’s leave them be. The troops should be arriving any minute. Help me stash the booze and weed so none of us get taken in. And if you’re like Wade and aren’t supposed to be here, now’s your last chance to get out. No one’ll know you were ever here, but you gotta leave right now.”

People moved under the balcony, onto the porch that was nothing more than a cement slab, and into the house. Others went the way I had come, around the side of the house and in through the front door. Cars started peeling out, but not as many as I’d guessed would. Without bothering to count, I figured something like two-thirds of our classmates stuck around. Whether it was so we wouldn’t have to face the awful reality alone, or whether it was due to lingering shock or a desire to be in the thick of things, I wasn’t sure. We’d never had to rely on anyone outside of our circle of five.

Stepping out from under Griffin and Hunt, I walked around the rough cement, peering up at Brady’s torso, at least a foot above eye level. Up close, the rebar was even more brutal, as thick as my arm with its twisted threads. It pierced him slightly off center and to the left, so that there was no escaping his heart. He almost certainly died on impact.

Trailing my fingers along the skin of his arm, through a tight throat, I whispered, “Dammit, Brady. This…” I sniffled. The last time I’d cried had been when he’d been teaching me how to skateboard and I’d come in for a rough crash landing after attempting a railslide on a handrail. I’d been nine.

I linked my fingers with his, running my thumb over his palm, still warm, back and forth. “This can’t be.” My breath was dense with tears I didn’t know if I’d be able to hold back. “It can’t be. Not over a stupid fight with an idiot asshole.”

“Joss,” Griffin said, my name on his lips a balm to the bloody pulp that remained of my heart, as messed up as Brady’s, only still beating.

I shook my head at Griffin, at Brady, at whatever unseen force had decided to take Brady from us. From me . “No. Just no, dammit. I don’t accept this.”

“Joss.” This time, Hunt’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, trying to pull me to him. I resisted, jerking free.

“No, Hunt. No, no, no . Brady can’t leave us. We’re meant to be together. All of us. It’s the five of us. Together forever, you remember?”

As I stared into Hunt’s eyes, I saw my memories reflected there. The five of us swore a blood pact, scoring our grubby ten-year-old palms with a pocketknife, to have each other’s backs until we were as old and gray as our parents, who were only in their thirties and forties then. We were born in the same year, and Layla and Brady were fraternal twins. Even before we came along, our parents had been close friends. Our friendship was destined, inevitable.

Sirens, still far away, finally made it that much more real. More final.

I squeezed Brady’s fingers with the same force that clenched my heart, wishing that my touch alone could ground him here, tether him to me, and keep him in this world, in his body, in this life.

Dropping my forehead against the cement, uncaring that it scratched, I gripped his fingers with all my might. It was useless, I knew, but so was his death. Nothing made sense anymore, and I was certain that nothing ever would again.

We’d have to call Brady and Layla’s parents, all our parents, and watch their hearts break too.

Gritting my teeth against the torrential shitstorm I was only barely holding back, I clutched Brady’s hand so tightly I would have hurt him if he could still feel. It was the same hand he’d carved our blood oath into. A paper-thin scar was visible along his palm.

I growled like a beast, hearing myself come apart.

And then Brady’s fingers twitched in mine.

I gasped, dropping his hand like it was on fire, jumping back and right into Griffin, who grabbed me to hold me up.

“What? What is it?” he asked as the sirens grew louder.

I couldn’t answer. The only thing I could do was stare at Brady’s hand and pray I hadn’t imagined his movement.

Sirens wailed through a complete cycle. Once, twice, three times, then more, and Brady’s hand was lifeless.

Then … his index finger jerked.

Griffin went rigid behind me, and when Hunt asked what was going on, drawing Layla to us, Griffin hushed him harshly and pointed.

Again, we waited, staring at Brady’s hand. I didn’t dare move a hair for fear I might interfere with whatever was happening.

This time, his thumb jumped.

As one, the four of us sucked in a sharp hitch of breath as hope, that cruel mistress, pressed in on our chests with the weight of an entire ocean.