Page 64 of June First

My chin drops to my chest, tears stinging my eyes—a mix of regret and low-simmering anger. But my pride is too mighty for me to apologize, so I simply say nothing at all.

I walk away.

I stalk across the lawn, up to the patio, meeting up with my friends who are lingering in the doorway. Pausing briefly, only once, I brave a glance behind me, looking across the dusky yard and landing on the mulberry tree.

Brant still stands there, right where I left him, with that same awful look on his face.

13

FIRST OFFENSE

BRANT, AGE 22

“That motherfucker is dead. Stone-cold dead.”

Theo’s hands ball at his sides as we march through the sand together, the smell of a summer bonfire mingling with marijuana and citronella.

Volatile waves radiate off the man beside me, and I know there’s nothing I can do to talk him down, but I still try. “You worked hard to get your badge, Theo. Don’t lose it over a scumbag like Wyatt.”

Wyatt Nippersink—I really hate that name.

Theo scoffs at me, as expected. “I appreciate the effort, but I plan on losing my badge tonight. I’m going to shove it down his fucking throat until he chokes.”

Well, shit.

I’ll be honest, my own blood is boiling, but I’ve spent years practicing how to temper the heat to ensure that I don’t burn anybody.

Theo is the opposite. He’s all venom and vitriol.

And when it comes to June?

Watch. Out.

Wendy spilled the beans to me that Wyatt was going to a party on the beach at Celeste’s family’s property, and that she overheard June’s name come up while he was talking with a friend.

Illegal substances, underage drinking, and sixteen-year-old girls—sounded like the perfect party for a cop to drop into.

Flames flicker a few yards away, and laughter floats over to us on a muggy mid-August draft.

Her laughter.

Junebug.

“Don’t worry, Peach… I’ll save you,” Theo hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.

June is a silhouette of peachy sundress and long brown hair tumbling over both shoulders as she jumps up from a hand-carved bench. She shoves a beer bottle behind her back to Celeste, who rises beside her in an attempt to be inconspicuous.

Even though Theo bristles to my left, emanating hot-blooded fury, June’s eyes are fixed on me as we approach the fire. Her full lips part, as if wanting to explain herself, yet realizing there’s nothing she can say that we don’t already know.

Wyatt stands lazily, flicking cigarette ashes into the flames. The orangey undertones in his hair are more striking when reflected off the blaze of the fire, and the smirk on his face is instant and organic. I wonder if it ever goes away. I’m almost positive it’s permanent. “Nice of you to join us, fellas,” he croons. He then turns to June and says, loud enough for us to hear, “Why don’t you be a doll and grab our guests a beer?”

“You’re a dead man, Wyatt,” Theo spits through his teeth, kicking up sand and grit when we reach the firepit. He wastes no time in grabbing Wyatt by the shirt collar and fisting hard, dragging him forward until they’re nose to nose. “Why are you here with my goddamn sister?”

Wyatt shoves himself free with a caustic laugh, then runs a hand through his coarse mop of shoulder-length hair. “Violent threats, police brutality…” He sticks a finger in the air. “Hold up, I should write this shit down.”

“You won’t have a hand to write with in about two fucking seconds. Then you can lick your wounds in a jail cell tonight.”

“What’s the offense?” Wyatt sniffs, looking pointedly at Celeste. “Not my booze. Not my bud. Not my property.”