The Heartbreakers (14 page)

“Oh God, where’s your camera?” Oliver asked. “This is priceless.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I said, which was a little worrisome. I had no clue where my camera was
or
what happened last night. Before I could give it much thought, my foot connected with something solid and I almost tripped. It was a glass bottle, and it rolled away, clinking across the tiled floor until it hit the far wall.

“What’s with all the champagne bottles?” I asked when I noticed a collection of them resting at the edge of the bathtub.

Oliver didn’t answer. He walked over to the tub and peered over the edge. Inside was a bubbly, light-yellow liquid. “Brilliant,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “Just brilliant.”

“You’re not going to think that when you look in the mirror,” I said, but to my surprise, when Oliver saw what had been scribbled all over him, he let out a deep laugh. I looked at him in disbelief. If someone had done that to me, I would be fuming.

“It’s pretty clever,” he told me.

“It’s going to be a pain to get off,” I pointed out.

He shrugged. “As long as I can scrub it off in a bath full of champagne, I’ll be happy.”

We tried to shake JJ awake, but he swatted our hands away and refused to open his eyes. Leaving him on the floor, we decided to inspect the rest of the penthouse to see the extent of the party’s damage. Out in the hallway, the floor was littered with red Solo cups, and it looked like a disco ball had exploded. Glitter covered everything.

I gasped when we walked into the living room. If I hadn’t known about the party, I would have guessed a bomb went off. Most of the furniture was tipped over, and a pair of pants was hanging off the ceiling fan. Someone had TP’d the place with different-colored party streamers, and one of the walls was splattered with a red substance that looked like blood, but I had a hunch it was ketchup left over from our contest.

And in the middle of it all was Xander.

“Finally,” he complained when he spotted us. “Can you guys help me? I’ve had to go to the bathroom for like an hour.” He was sitting on a chair, and someone had duct-taped him to it. It must have taken a whole roll of tape, because his entire shirt was hidden underneath the gray.

Oliver was on his hands and knees laughing so hard that he was crying. “Best. Party. Ever,” he managed to get out between laughs.

“Shut up, Harry Perry,” Xander said. “I’m seriously going to pee on myself.”

I rushed to Xander’s side to help him, but before I could peel back a single strip of tape, the front door slammed open, and the entire penthouse shook. A beer bottle toppled off the bar and shattered on the floor. The clicking of heels filled the now-silent suite, and we all stared as a very angry-looking Courtney stormed into the room.

“Oh shit,” Xander said.

A cheerful whistle filled the air. “Morning, guys,” Alec said as he strolled into the living room. He looked freshly showered and dressed for the day, not like he’d partied all night long. When he spotted Courtney, he spun back around, attempting to escape before she noticed him.

“Don’t you dare move a foot, Alec,” Courtney hissed. “You boys were supposed to be down in the lobby half an hour ago. What the hell is going on here?”

“Well, we had a party,” Xander started to explain.

“
Clearly
,” she said, her impatience obvious.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big one,” Oliver said, “but then—”

“Honestly, what’s gotten into you boys lately?” Courtney said, cutting him off. She shook her head a moment later. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to hear the answer to that question. Someone go find JJ right now. You four have ten minutes to meet me downstairs.” Then Courtney was gone, the door slamming behind her.

“Oh my God,” I said, slumping down onto the couch. “This is all my fault, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, you guys.” At first nobody said anything, but then Alec started laughing. When Oliver and Xander joined in, my mouth fell open. “What? Guys, this isn’t funny!”

“This is not your fault,” Oliver said between laughs. “Don’t apologize.”

“But you threw a party for me, and now Courtney’s pissed.”

Alec shrugged. “You know what? I’m glad.”

I gaped at him. “What? Why?”

Oliver nodded. “Me too. When was the last time we did something that pissed her off this much?” he asked, as if making Courtney angry was some kind of accomplishment he’d been missing out on.

“I can’t remember,” Alec answered. The boys considered this for a moment before grinning at each other like dorks.

“You’re all psycho,” I said, shaking my head. “Completely psycho.”

“Hey, guys?” Xander said then. “I still have to pee.”

It took nine of Courtney’s allotted ten minutes to get the duct tape off Xander. Then the boys freshened up and were out the door in another five. I had no idea what their schedule was for the day or when they’d be back, but I didn’t care because my plan was to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

That didn’t work out so well.

As soon as I lay down, I started thinking about this morning and waking up with Oliver. Thinking turned into worrying, and soon I was in full-out panic mode. Exactly what had happened between us? I prayed it was nothing. Maybe we were both so drunk that we accidentally passed out in the same bed. Maybe. But the evil part of my mind jumped to the worst possible explanation—what if I’d thrown myself at him?

Unable to sleep, I tried watching a movie, but nothing could distract me from my thoughts. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went back to the boys’ suite to see if they’d returned. Nobody was there, but I decided to stick around because I knew Oliver and I had to talk. I spent the next hour practicing what I was going to say. The minute he walked through the door, I was going to march over to him and tell him that whatever happened last night was an accident, which was definitely the tequila’s fault, and that it would never happen again.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” I exclaimed and pulled at my hair.

Shaking my head, I sunk down on the couch. The more I rehearsed my speech, the more I thought talking to Oliver wasn’t such a good idea after all. Most of the party had come back to me in throbbing, colorful flashes, but there was still a blank when I tried to picture the events surrounding him.

I could always ask Xander or Alec to tell me the details, but they were still gone doing band stuff. Maybe things would be a lot less frustrating if I just asked Oliver straight out what went down and stopped being so embarrassed. I could do that, right? After all, we were just friends.

As if on cue, the hotel door slammed open and Oliver appeared carrying three large grocery bags. Trying to carry was a better description. One of the brown paper bags was ripping, and he was struggling to get the load to the kitchen without losing anything. I shot out of my seat and rushed over to help him.

“Thanks, Stella,” he said when I relieved him of one of the bags. We set everything down on the counter next to the sink, and an onion, a jalapeño, and a can of tomato paste came spilling out.

“What’s all this for?”

“I’m making dinner,” he said. “Wash your hands. You can help.”

I stared at Oliver, brows raised. If he noticed my hesitation, he didn’t say anything. He was already pulling out the groceries, and I quickly noticed the way he was slamming cans of beans down on the counter as he pulled them from the bag. Something was wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, I slid the ponytail holder from around my wrist and pulled my hair back before turning on the faucet. While the water warmed up, I lathered my hands with soap and chewed on my inside cheek. This would be the perfect time to discuss last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to mention it, even after practicing for more than an hour. Especially not if Oliver was upset about something.

“Where is everyone?” I asked instead and grabbed a paper towel to dry my hands.

His nostrils flared. “They’re
supposed
to be here.”

“Supposed to?”

“Yeah. Once a month, we have what I like to call family dinner. I cook, and everyone else helps out. Tonight was supposed to be family dinner, but on the way back from the store, JJ saw the Cheesecake Factory and they all decided to go there instead,” he said, his lips curling in an ugly scowl.

He didn’t wait for any response on my part. Instead, he spun around and started opening and slamming drawers in search of something. Eventually he pulled out a can opener and hooked its jagged teeth to the lip of a can. He started to crank the handle, but the blade slipped. He tried twice more with the same results, his face turning redder with each failed attempt.

I placed my hand over his and pulled the can opener away. “Oliver, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. A second later he shook his head and glanced up at me. “Sorry, Stella. I’m not mad at you. I’m just frustrated.”

He seemed a bit more than frustrated, especially considering it was only one missed dinner, but maybe I wasn’t catching something. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s fine.”

He nodded. “Well, looks like it’s just the two of us. You like chili, yeah?”

“Chili’s great.”

This seemed to put him in a better mood, because he turned on some music, and we busied ourselves with preparing our meal. For most of the next hour we worked in silence, our only conversation when he gave me instructions. I was uncomfortable at first, mainly because I couldn’t stop thinking about last night, but browning ground beef was so mundane that it was strangely calming. When Oliver started to hum along with the radio, I turned away from the stove and watched him chop vegetables. He was shimmying his shoulders back and forth, and I realized that if something awkward had happened last night, he wouldn’t be as relaxed as he was now.

Once the chili was simmering on the stove, I set two places for us at the table, and then we sat down and waited for the food to finish cooking.

“So…” Oliver said. He was playing with the spoon set out in front of him and was avoiding looking at me.
Oh
crap
, I thought.
Maybe
I
spoke
too
soon
. He was about to bring up last night, and if thinking about it made him uncomfortable, then something bad totally happened. “I wasn’t purposely listening or anything, but I overheard you and Xander before the show on Monday.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what I was expecting. “What about?”

“Your sister,” he said, starting to speak in a rush. “I would have said something sooner, but there wasn’t a good time and—”

The spoon flew from his hand as his fingers slipped, and it clattered against his bowl. Reaching out, I scooped up both of his fidgeting hands and held them still. Oliver raised his gaze to find mine.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I said. “Really, it’s fine. Cara…she’s been sick for a while now.”

Oliver grimaced and shook his head like he was disappointed in himself. “I’ve been trying to come up with something perfect to say all week, but I guess that’s stupid, isn’t it? There’s nothing that would make things better. It’s just, the thought of having someone so close, and then there’s this potential they might suddenly be gone…” Oliver stopped, and his expression was twisted in a way that made it impossible to interpret. “I can’t even imagine how difficult that must feel.”

The one thing that I
did
understand was that he was upset, and seeing him so choked up was completely unexpected. “Thank you, Oliver. That means a lot to me.” He nodded his head, a grave expression still on his face, so I squeezed his hand and said, “If Cara were here right now, she’d point out that she’s still alive and that you need to stop acting all doom and gloom.”

“You’re right,” he said. His smile finally returned and he sat up. “Hey, did your sister like her gift?”

“Like it? She just about pissed herself she was so excited.”

Oliver’s grin widened. “That’s great. I can’t imagine how she reacted when Paul offered you a job. What’d she say?”

“Well, she threatened to never speak to me again when I considered turning it down.” As soon as the words came out, I wanted to steal them back because Oliver pulled away from me.

“You weren’t going to accept?” he asked. “Why the heck not?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice dropping. I didn’t like where this conversation was going, so I let my hair fall in front of my face and started combing my fingers through it.

“Really, that’s all I get?” he asked as I isolated the blue chunk from the rest of my hair. I wrapped the colorful streak around my finger and avoided his scrutinizing gaze. “Come on, Stella. There has to be a reason. It—it wasn’t because of me, was it?”

I let the strand go and laughed as it unraveled from my finger. “Of course not, Oliver. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell what you’re thinking sometimes. I thought maybe you didn’t want to say anything because it had to do with me.”

I breathed a sigh. “It’s not you. I promise.”

“Then what?”

“I already told you,” I said, speaking warily. “I don’t know.” I was trying to swallow my frustration, but the more Oliver pushed the subject, the more uncomfortable I felt. I knew it wouldn’t be long until I popped like the bottle rocket I could sometimes be, and I hunted for a way to change the subject.

“How can you not know?” he pressed, looking at me like I was an idiot. The doubt on his face was all it took.

“Because, Oliver!” I said, throwing my hands into the air. “I just don’t. All I know is that there was this disgusting pit in my stomach whenever I thought about leaving.” There was no way I was going to tell him that I
still
felt that way whenever I thought too much about Cara.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his voice softening as he held his hands out in defense. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just thought maybe I could help.”

“No offense, but what can you do?” It was nice and all for him to try, but if my brother—one of the two people in this world who knew me best—couldn’t help, then how could Oliver?

He shrugged. “No clue, but talking about it isn’t going to hurt.”

“What are you, my therapist?” I knew I sounded harsh, mean even, but I could feel the pull of the rip current again. Joining the band on tour was supposed to help me figure out what was bothering me, but so far all I felt was more confused.

“Actually, I consider myself more a detective,” Oliver said, cracking a small smile. “Right now I’m working a case called The Mysterious Upset Stomach.” I looked at him, lips pinched tight, but he just raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Relax, Stella. I’m not going to judge you.”

Ask
yourself
what
you’re so afraid of…

Finally, I sighed. “When Paul called me, I was super-excited,” I admitted. “I mean, jumping-up-and-down excited. The first person I went to tell was Cara, and I think—I think it was seeing her bedroom door that made me panic. She has all these pictures of us taped up, and it reminded me of when we first found out she had cancer.”

“What happened?”

I lowered my head onto the table and didn’t say anything for a while. That was a day I didn’t like thinking about.

Cara had told me she was feeling strange, bogged down and constantly tired, but I’d dismissed it as exhaustion from too many long hours at cheer practice. Eventually Mom brought her to the doctors. They decided to run some tests, and I thought,
Okay, maybe Cara is sick, but it’s probably just mono or something.

Her doctor would give her some meds, tell her to take it easy, and she’d be fine. The truth was, I was too busy with our school’s winter production of
Guys
and
Dolls
to pay much attention. The Art Club was designing the set, and I was in charge of the entire project.

When the test results came back, my parents sat Drew and me down at the kitchen table so Cara could explain what was going on. I’d been annoyed—it was a Saturday and I was supposed to be at school putting the finishing touches on the set before Thursday’s opening show—so instead of paying attention, I was texting my friends to tell them I’d be late.

“Stella, are you even listening to me?” Cara had screamed. I remembered looking up, seeing the tears on her face, and still not grasping the severity of the situation.

“Yeah, what?” I’d asked.

“It’s cancer.” That time she didn’t yell. The hard line of her jaw was enough, along with the word “cancer.” It packed the kind of punch that could only be compared to a championship-winning knockout. That or getting run over by a dump truck.

Shaking my head, I lifted my eyes back up to look at Oliver. “I didn’t notice she’d been crying,” I said, my own eyes watering. “Something was wrong with my sister, and I didn’t even realize it.”

“Hey,” he said. His chair scraped against the floor as he scooted over and draped his arm over my shoulder. “You’re not all-knowing, Stella. How were you supposed to tell she was sick? X-ray vision?”

“That’s not the point.” I tucked my elbows into my sides so I could hold myself. “I didn’t notice anything was wrong because I was too busy to notice.”

Oliver shook his head at me. “No, Stella. You were living your life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

My nails bit into my palm as I clenched my fist. “You don’t get it. If I’d been there”—thinking about this made me squeeze my eyes shut—“I would have known something was wrong. We could have taken her to the doctor sooner, and then maybe her cancer wouldn’t be as bad.”

He was quiet for a minute as he chose his words. “You’re right,” he said finally, which made me suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t get it. Not at all. You’re blaming yourself for something that’s out of your control, like a thunderstorm or an alien invasion. Fact: bad things happen sometimes. You’re gonna get the shit kicked out of you sooner or later, and that’s just part of life. What matters is how you absorb the blow.”

“Okay?” I wasn’t quite sure if Oliver was saying I’d actually get beaten up or if this was just some terrible guy analogy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop feeling so guilty, Stella. You’re absorbing all wrong.”