Friends & Forever, Page 3

  "Why not?"

  "Really? That's my little brother's bed. Gross."

  Her brother's bed. Those words washed through Carmine, barely sinking in. Her brother. His best friend. This was wrong, so fucking wrong… you don't fuck with your best friend's sister. He reminded himself that, silently chastising himself, internally protesting the entire time, but he was too far-gone, the inebriation severing body and mind.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Yep, that's what he wanted.

  To fuck.

  Carmine fumbled with his clothes, pulling a condom from his wallet and rolling it on in the darkness as Amy tugged him toward the grubby couch where Carmine camped out whenever he stayed over. Amy started stripping as she lay back on the couch, and Carmine hovered over her, easily sliding between her slim thighs.

  There was nothing loving about it, nothing sensual. It was sexual. It was pure, raw, unadulterated fucking. She cried out as he thrust into her, her nails clawing his back. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of sinking inside of her, the pleasure and pain. It was everything.

  It wasn't long—a few deep strokes, not long enough for either to break a sweat or reach their peak—before it was over, ended as abruptly as it started. The door flung open, slamming into the wall. "You in here, DeMarco? Please tell me your punk ass isn't passed out already. I need to borrow a condom."

  Nicholas.

  Carmine instantly stilled, deep inside of her, as dread coursed through him. His eyes shot toward the doorway as Nicholas stepped into the bedroom and flicked on the light switch. Carmine grunted, squinting from the harsh light, as Amy cursed beneath him.

  Nicholas glanced toward the couch and quickly turned away. "Oh fuck, sorry, man. Didn't know you were with a… girl."

  The moment he said girl, Carmine could detect the change in his tone. His voice dropped low, a cold, hard edge to the word. Carmine quickly sat up, pulling the condom off and throwing it in the trashcan as he fixed his pants. Amy wordlessly fumbled with her clothes, covering herself up.

  Nicholas took a deep breath, the movement obvious in his back as his shoulders stiffened, harshly rising and falling, before he slowly turned back around. He glanced between the two of them, his expression blank… so detached a sense of trepidation simmered inside of Carmine. The calm before the storm.

  Amy said not a damn word as she bolted right past her brother and out of the room. She knew it, too. This was bad. Real fucking bad. Nicholas just stood there, staring at Carmine. Carmine didn't know what to say. All the reasoning he had ignored earlier pounded away at him as he quickly sobered up again. Not good.

  "That wasn't a girl," Nicholas said, his voice low.

  "Uh, well…" Carmine was going to point out that Amy was, in fact, a girl, but he knew what Nicholas meant. She wasn't just a girl. She wasn't just a 'nobody'. She was a 'somebody' to Nicholas. "No."

  "My sister?" Nicholas raised his eyebrows, the first sign of anger showing as he clenched his hands into fists at his side. "You fucked my sister?"

  "Well, uh…" He wanted to deny it, to lie his ass off, but he'd been caught red-handed with his dick in the honey-pot, so-to-speak. Anything short of an admission would be a goddamn insult. "Yeah, I did."

  Nicholas stared at him for a moment longer before turning around and walking out of the room. Carmine stood there, stunned, and decided to follow his friend. That couldn't have been it. Not at all.

  Carmine made it to the front door when there was a commotion outside. He thrust the screen door open and stepped out on the porch when he heard Dom yell. "Whoa, Nick… what the hell are you doing, man?"

  Carmine looked up in just enough time to see Nicholas swing a baseball bat at the Mazda, shattering the driver's side window. Gasping, Carmine stared with shock. His car. His fucking car. "My fucking car!"

  Before Carmine could even fully register what was happening, Nicholas came toward him with the bat. Carmine ducked as Nicholas swung, barely missing him. Cursing, he jumped back when Nicholas swung again, his screaming echoing over the sound of the music, drawing everyone's attention. "My sister, DeMarco? Of all the girls in this town, you think you can fuck around with my sister?"

  "Look, calm down," Carmine said, raising his hands defensively, but it did nothing to stop his friend. Nicholas tried to swing again when Dom jumped in, snatching ahold of the bat and prying it from Nicholas's hands. Dom tossed it away from them, the bat landing in the grass with a thud, but being disarmed didn't stop Nicholas. No, he wouldn't be deterred that easily.

  Nicholas lunged at Carmine, barely giving him enough time to brace himself for the impact. The fist landed on his jaw, pain tearing through his face and down his neck as his head jolted to the side.

  "Knock it the hell off!" Dom shouted.

  Carmine held his hands up to stop his brother from intervening again. "Let him get it out."

  He'd get it out, and they'd be fine

  They always were.

  Dom hesitated but took a step back at Carmine's insistence. Carmine, watching his brother, not wanting to involve him, hadn't been prepared for Nicholas's attack. Another blow landed right in his nose, blinding pain blasting him as whiteness coated his vision. The agony spurred him to react, and he blocked Nicholas's next hit, instead punching back.

  Fists flew as the boys lunged, kicking and striking, all out brawling in the grass as the crowd formed around them. They beat the daylights out of each other, blood pouring from both of their faces, knuckles bloody and bodies battered by the time their energy waned. Dom finally stepped in then, ignoring Carmine's protests, and shoved the two of them away from each other.

  "Enough!" he shouted. "What the hell, guys? You're best friends!"

  Nicholas spit on the grass as he shook his head, blood running down his chin. His lip was split. "Not anymore."

  Those cold words struck Carmine so hard he visibly flinched. He hadn't even flinched from Nicholas's fists. "Don't be fucking stupid."

  "Stupid?" Nicholas stepped toward him, but was blocked by Dom's body wedged between them. "You're dead to me, DeMarco. Dead."

  * * *

  For the second time that night, both boys landed in the emergency room in Durante. This time, however, there was no laughter. There was no joking. There was nothing funny about it.

  Carmine sat still on the edge of the sterile white bed as Jenn restitched the wound on his eyebrow. His earlier stitches had been torn out in the scuffle.

  Nicholas sat no more than ten feet from him, on the end of the adjacent bed, another nurse cleaning his wounds. Between them stood Vincent DeMarco, both of their charts in his hand, a look of indecision on his face as he glanced between the two of them. He obviously wondered what the hell happened, but Carmine knew a part of him realized it was an answer he didn't want to hear.

  After Carmine's stitches were back in and both boys were bandaged up, Vincent waved the nurses off, dismissing them from the room. They quietly left, and Vincent shut the door behind them, sighing as he tossed the charts down on a small table. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned back to look between them again. "The ER twice in one night… are we looking to set a record?"

  Neither spoke.

  "What happened?" he asked, waving between them. "Who did this to you? I know you didn't do it to yourselves."

  Carmine scoffed at that as Nicholas let out a dry laugh, licking his split lip. They still didn't speak. What the hell could they say?

  "Ah." Vincent seemed to get it at that moment. "You did it to each other."

  Again, they said nothing.

  Vincent eyed them peculiarly. "Do we need to involve the police?"

  That finally got them speaking.

  "Nah, no big deal," Nicholas said, hopping down off the bed and wincing as he put weight on his ankle. "I just fell."

  "Sounds about right to me," Carmine muttered.

  Nicholas knew the routine by now, going into his own chart and grabbing the sheet out to be discharged. He said nothing else, strol
ling out without another word. No 'goodbye'. No 'see you later'. No nothing. Not even a 'fuck you'.

  Carmine sat there for a moment, staring straight ahead. He could feel his father's gaze on him, assessing him, judging him. "What did you do, Carmine?"

  "What makes you think I did something?"

  Vincent strolled over and roughly grasped Carmine's chin, lifting his head to survey his face, purposely making him look him in the eyes. Angry, Carmine shoved his father's hand away. He hated when he did that, when he so casually manhandled him. It made Carmine feel two feet tall and ten years younger. Fuck that.

  "He's your best friend, son," Vincent said gently.

  "Not anymore."

  Saying those words out loud stung Carmine, like the verbal acknowledgement made them real. Nicholas wasn't his best friend anymore.

  "Why not?"

  Carmine glared at his father. "Why do you care?"

  "I always care about what's going on with you," he said. "You're my son."

  Laughing dryly, Carmine jumped down from the hospital bed. "Don't try that fatherly bullshit out on me now, Dr. DeMarco." He purposely sneered the name as he shook his head. "You can play that game around everyone else, but I know you. I live with you. That ship sailed a long, long time ago."

  * * *

  Thumping bass vibrated the school gymnasium as hip-hop blared from the speakers flanking a DJ. Colored lights swirled around the makeshift dance floor with bodies amassed in the center, laughing and dancing the night away.

  Carmine stood along the side, his back to the crowd as he poured himself a glass of punch. A quick glance around ensured nobody was watching as he slipped his flask from his pocket and poured a bit of the liquor into his small cup. After putting the flask away, he turned around and leaned back against the table, taking a sip.

  The subtle burn soothed his nerves.

  Why was he here? He didn't know. He didn't want to be. School dances weren't his idea of a good time, but he had made plans to come weeks ago… plans he just seemed to instinctively follow through with, despite what had happened the night before.

  His muscles ached and his head pounded viciously along to the beat of the music… last night's fight with Nicholas had taken a toll on his body. He knew he looked like hell, too, cuts and bruises marring his tanned skin.

  He looked about as good as the motherfucker across the gymnasium.

  Nicholas stood along the other side of the room, laughing along with a group of friends. Their friends, or more so Nicholas's friends, it seemed. Even Carmine's own brother was over there, laughing and joking along with him.

  Seems they chose their side, and it wasn't with him.

  Carmine's gaze drifted from them to Amy out on the dance floor. Amy, who had helped create this fucking mess, yet she looked as if she had not a care in the world, wearing her homecoming crown and dancing with the starting quarterback of the varsity squad. Bullshit.

  Guzzling the rest of the punch, Carmine tossed the plastic cup in the closest trashcan as he strode through the crowd, toward the exit on the other side of the gymnasium. He could be miserable elsewhere… somewhere quiet, that didn't make his head pound so fucking hard. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he nodded goodbyes to a few people who caught his eye, keeping his head down as he approached the crowd with Nicholas. He wasn't in the mood for the shit tonight. Maybe if he kept his distance and gave him time to cool down, it would all blow over.

  The sound of his friend's laughter made his hair bristle as it frazzled his nerves yet again. How the hell could he be so happy? Carmine nearly made it to the door when he heard Nicholas's voice, purposely raised.

  "What's the best sex position to make an ugly baby?"

  Carmine rolled his eyes. A joke.

  "I don't know," someone said. "What?"

  "Don't know either," Nicholas said. "Too bad Carmine's mom's dead or we'd ask her."

  A low murmur rolled through the group before strained silence fell over everything. Carmine felt like he'd been plunged in a bucket of ice water. A sickeningly painful numbness slowly coated every inch of him, pins and needles on his flesh, as his heart rate skyrocketed. Mere seconds passed, barely a blink of an eye, but it felt like an eternity inside of Carmine. An eternity of indecision. An eternity of devastation. An eternity of disbelief.

  There's no way he just said that.

  No way.

  But when the second passed, all indecision was gone. The devastation manifested into rage, the disbelief pure adrenaline. Turning, Carmine pounced, swinging his fists without hesitation.

  The crowd backed up, getting out of the way, as Carmine unleashed his rage. Nicholas had been caught off guard and could do nothing but try to shield his face, blocking the attack. It ended almost as fast as it started, the school administration and security stepping in and tearing the boys apart. Carmine was shaking, furious, as someone dragged him away from Nicholas.

  "Not cool," Dom said, helping Nicholas off the ground despite the anger in his voice. Nicholas ignored him, pushing Dom away, as others shoved him toward the door to get him out of there.

  "This isn't over!" Carmine shouted, breaking from the grasp as he started for the exit after him. He flung the doors open and stepped outside as Nicholas casually strode through the parking lot toward his truck. "You hear me, Barlow? This isn't over!"

  Dom stepped out behind Carmine and grabbed his arm to calm him down, but he shook his brother off. Fuck being calm.

  Nicholas paused near his truck and turned around, glaring at Carmine. Blood streamed from the boy's mouth. He was lucky Carmine didn't knock his teeth out for what he said.

  "You know what, DeMarco?" Nicholas shouted. "Fuck you!"

  "Right back at you," Carmine said. "Fuck you and your fucking sister."

  "Yeah, well, fuck your mother!" Nicholas spat.

  "Don't you talk about my mother," Carmine yelled. "I swear to God, you mention her again, and I'll kill you."

  "What, like you got her killed?" Nicholas spat. "Wah-wah, poor baby, watched his Mommy die because he was too chicken-shit to do anything to help her. Does your brother know you left her to die?"

  The words were like knives, leaving gaping wounds in Carmine's chest as they stabbed at him, again and again. He had told his friend that in confidence. Nicholas was the only person he had ever confessed that to—the fear that constantly existed inside of him, nagging him, tearing him apart, piece-by-piece… the fear, the belief, that he had abandoned his mother that night in the alley. That he had left her there to die alone.

  The coldness washed through Carmine again, but this time there was no stopping him. Nicholas was in his truck and pulling away by the time Carmine reached his car. He didn't hesitate, didn't think twice about anything. He was going to make Nicholas pay for those words.

  He drove straight to Aurora Lake, raging simmering inside of him as he went.

  Nicholas's truck was already there was he arrived, the driver's side door wide open as he climbed out of the cab. Carmine's tires squealed as he pulled right up to the house, his headlights illuminating the truck. Nicholas turned to him, eyes narrowed, bitter words right on the tip of his tongue, but he never had a chance to get them out.

  Carmine reached under his seat and pulled out the loaded Colt .45 he kept concealed there. Climbing out, Carmine clutched the gun. Nicholas's gaze darted to it, eyes widening as he froze in terror.

  Raising his arm, Carmine fired.

  Bullet after bullet tore into the truck, clanking against metal as sparks flew, the sound of gunfire echoing through the night air. He emptied the gun, expelling every bullet. The last one hit the gas tank, a sudden spark igniting. Startled, Carmine took an instinctive step back as flames shot out around the truck. The fire was sudden and explosive, flames licking at the house and igniting the corner of the porch.

  "Fuck!" Nicholas screamed. "Oh God! My house!"

  His house. Carmine stared at the flames as he lowered the gun, the sight of the fire washing the coldness away
. "What the fuck?"

  "What the fuck?" Nicholas echoed, turning to him. "What the fuck, DeMarco?"

  What the fuck?

  * * *

  The shiny metal handcuffs dug into Carmine's wrists behind his back, his shoulders aching as he sat in the hard plastic chair along the far wall. The police station not far from Aurora Lake was quiet, not the flurry of activity Carmine had expected. A lone woman sat behind a desk at the front, taking calls, as a few officers strolled throughout the building, filing reports and taking statements.

  Nobody spoke to him. Nobody questioned him. Nobody even tried. They brought him in and sat him down, leaving him alone with nothing but his agitated thoughts. He wasn't surprised, given who his father was… they wouldn't dare question him without alerting the good ol' doctor, for fear of incurring his wrath, but it annoyed Carmine, nonetheless.

  He didn't need his father. He didn't need him for anything.

  Time passed. More people strolled by without giving him a look, pretending as if he didn't exist, until the door to the station opened and Vincent DeMarco walked in. An officer swiftly met him right at the entrance, whispering quietly to him, as Vincent's eyes shifted past the officer to where Carmine sat.

  Carmine stared at his father, trying to gauge his mood as he slowly approached. He wasn't afraid of him, per se. No, although he knew exactly what his father was capable of, he also knew the man would never dare physically harm him. But Carmine also knew there were ways to hurt someone without laying a finger on them.

  Nicholas had proven that to him again tonight.

  And as Vincent approached, Carmine felt it, seeing the disappointment in his father's eyes. He tried to put on a brave face, to keep the mask of indifference in place, but it stung. The rage Carmine could take. But the pity?

  That he could fucking keep.

  Vincent let out an exasperated sigh as he sat down in the chair beside Carmine. Tension rolled from him in waves, causing Carmine's natural instinct to want to flee to kick in. It was a defensive mechanism—he somehow managed to remember that from psychology class. When people were stressed their reaction was to either fight or flee, and at that moment Carmine wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there. He’d already done enough fighting to last a lifetime—after all, it was what had landed him in the chair in the first place.