Candy Colored Sky, стр. 48
I meet Gemma’s worried stare.
“Are you driving?” I notice she isn’t holding a cup and her eyes look clear as day. She flashes me Eleanor’s keys.
“I figured one of us needed to have our wits about us. She was insistent on coming. She texted me all day long, venting about Morgan telling her she should stay home and be with the family more, that she wasn’t doing enough, especially since she was supposed to be watching Addy. I think she’s really cracked, Jonah. It wasn’t like that at all, and Morgan is taking it out on her because she’s a bitch and that’s how she deals with crises. I’m worried about her.” She glances back up at her friend, the flickering glow of the flames lighting up her intense features.
“I won’t leave her side all night. I promise. And if I have to carry her home, I will,” I say. Gemma’s eyes fall back to me, a touch of relief in them. We’re miles from home, so that was an exaggeration. I won’t carry her; I’ll take a car, especially now that I know Gemma can take Jake home.
“I don’t know what she did with her fucking pants.” She purses her lips after a vent of her own, and when she puts her hands on her hips and scans the area, I laugh.
“Let’s see if we can get her to tie this around her waist, at least,” I say, shaking my head and handing Gemma my black and yellow flannel. It’s my favorite one, and I’m wearing a thinner long-sleeved shirt than I normally would. The blast of cold hits me, even this close to the fire, so I know Eleanor’s cold.
“Hold this,” Gemma says, giving me her phone while she climbs up to join her friend on the table. A round of whistles follows, and I’m afraid people will think I’m like these other assholes standing around.
“How’d you manage to make this happen, my friend?” Jake’s arm flops along my shoulders and back as he steps in next to me, grinning.
“I didn’t manage anything. Eleanor’s super drunk, and Gemma’s trying to get her to tie my shirt around her waist.” I’m a little pissed that he sees this as some sexy show, just like those other dicks.
“Why isn’t she wearing pants?” he asks, still a little too amused for my taste.
“Hell if I know.” I shrug, glancing at his arm still slung over me. I try to shirk it off but he adjusts and leans on me a little harder. He’s trying to force me to relax and fit in. I’m not in the mood.
We both look on while Gemma makes a game of it, basically tricking her friend into letting her cover her bottom half more than it is, which is not much at all. When she gets boos from the crowd, Jake’s jaw tightens and I feel his fist form as his knuckles crack. If he picks a fight, I’m going to have to join him. My hands form fists in my pockets.
As the music morphs from rap and club beats mashed together in no coherent order, Eleanor’s body grows more and more listless. I start to worry that she’ll collapse, and I think Jake does, too. It’s either that or he’s really raring for a fight because he’s pulled his arm away from me and is holding his fist in his other palm, practicing his punch.
All it takes is Shakespeare to light the match.
I bolt the second his hand reaches forward and touches Eleanor’s thigh. I slap it away and pull Eleanor from the table and into me. Jake takes over handling Shakespeare while I awkwardly lift Eleanor over my shoulder to carry her to her car.
“Can you get Jake home?” I shout over my shoulder to Gemma, who’s following close behind.
“Yes,” she answers.
When we reach the Volkswagen, Gemma exchanges keys with me and helps me persuade Eleanor to get into the passenger seat. That job becomes a whole lot easier after Eleanor vomits on the side of the road while her friend holds back her hair.
“You sure you can handle this?” Gemma’s eyes meet mine as we both work to get Eleanor into the car and buckled up.
“I’ll get her home. And I will make sure she’s okay.” I’m dead serious, and I think Gemma senses the depth of my promise.
She offers a faint smile and wraps her hands around mine as I squeeze the keys. “She’s in a really bad place. Thank you for being there for her.”
I nod and tighten my lips. There have been dozens of ways I fantasized about a world where I am Eleanor Trombley’s person. This was never one of them.
“Tell Jake to call me tomorrow,” I say, getting in on the driver’s side and cranking the engine to peel us out of here.
“I’m sorry, Jonah. I got sick,” Eleanor says as we drive, her voice weak and childlike. I’m starting to think someone gave her something, and I fight the growl deep in my belly that tells me I should race back to the party and tear apart every asshole there to find out who did it.
“It’s okay, Eleanor. We’re going home, and you can rest.”
“You called me Eleanor,” she hums.
I breathe in long and deep through my nose, then glance to my right to find her sad eyes waiting. I don’t know how to respond. I’m rushed with a mixture of feelings. I want to yell at her for acting out, for not listening to her sister and staying home. I want to shake her sister for being so thoughtless with her words. And then I want to go back in time and call her Elle. That it means something to her makes me feel more than I have, maybe ever.
She’s turned to rest