Chapter Text
It takes three days to make it to El Paso, with not much to say about any of them. The driving is easy, obviously, not the crazier stuff Kate prefers, but she still happily takes on the bulk of it. It gives her something to do between rolling country hills and flat desert and the hum of her playlist on loop.
At some point during day three, Seth forces her to pull over, exiling her to the backseat so he can get a turn behind the wheel. She’s grumpy about it for a few minutes until she realizes she gets to be next to Richie, who takes up a lot of room and keeps finding all sorts of ways to bump against her from his side.
Sitting in his lap might be a better use of space, Kate thinks, and she has to curl her fingers under her legs to fight the urge away; in the rearview mirror, Seth’s eyes feel like a brand against her skin.
“So,” Kate says quickly, an attempt at distraction. “How are we getting across the border?”
Reaching down beneath the driver’s seat to pull out a briefcase, Richie smiles, devilish: “With these.”
He opens it to hand her what looks like a very real passport, with her very real face attached to a very fake name. She groans as she reads it.
“You did not seriously call me Jackie Jackson?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Seth asks, knowing exactly what’s wrong with it.
Kate rolls her eyes, not bothering to dignify him with a response. Carefully, she looks over the passport, impressed by the quality. Knowing them, they probably had these made weeks ago on the off-chance that they needed to leave the country quickly.
Fingers brushing over the words Jackie Jackson, she thinks of Seth laughing at his own dumb joke, and Richie going along with it, and she didn’t even ask for them to make this for her; they’d just planned on taking her wherever they went. That brings a tiny smile to her face.
The picture they chose for her is strange. She looks young in it, happier, and it’s familiar enough that she knows she’s seen it before—maybe hanging on a wall once upon a time.
Pointing at it, she leans over to Richie and whispers, “Where’d you get this from?”
“Tell you later,” he murmurs.
Typical. With a sigh, Kate moves back to her side and slips the passport into the briefcase.
“I don’t even look like a Jackie,” she says, mostly to herself.
“Well, it’s better than Baby, isn’t it?” Vanessa replies.
Seth laughs, a little meanly, so Kate rolls down her window to fill the car with cold, dusty air. It’s worth the bitching just to see the scowl on Seth’s face.
-
On the fourth day, they tackle actually crossing the border.
Vanessa’s been voicing her concerns repeatedly, and loudly, about the boys getting recognized, and Kate gets her point. The Geckos are just a little too well known by the police, even this far away from Atlanta. Seth, of course, seems unfazed.
“You’re forgetting the two of us have done this before,” Seth says. “Completely smooth sailing.”
Richie scoffs. “I wouldn’t say—”
“Shut up, Richard.”
“I was just gonna mention—”
“Shut up, Richard.”
And that’s that.
They argue about seating arrangements for so long Kate wants to strangle them. It’s all maximum cover and blind spots and other criminal stuff Kate knows nothing about. Eventually, they put Vanessa in the driver’s seat and Richie on the passenger’s side, with Seth and Kate sitting knee-to-knee in the back.
The crawl through the line of cars at the border is slow, so slow that Kate starts to freak out. A little. A lot.
Anything could go wrong. It would only take a little bit of scrutiny to realize that something isn’t quite right, or notice something familiar about their faces. One wrong move and then it would be a shoot-out, a fucking mess, and they’d probably never make it back into the country after that. A bead of sweat drops down Kate’s neck.
Nervously, she glances over at Seth, checking him for any sign of distress or danger. She knows he’s got a gun tucked somewhere against him, same as Richie and Vanessa. They haven’t given Kate a gun, and she’s never asked for one, because the guns and shooting and death part of this whole deal has never come easy to her. She can’t tell whether she wants one now or not.
They make it up to the front of the line without a problem, not even a second glance from anyone, but Kate can’t help the anxious, relentless bounce of her knee.
Gently, Seth presses on her leg to make it go still, giving her a look. “We’re gonna be fine, Baby.”
It’s a voice she’s heard before. When a job goes wrong and it’s just adrenaline and fear and the knowledge that death is only a few wrong turns away, Seth cuts through it all with utter confidence—we’re gonna be fine. And somehow, he’s always right.
Resisting the urge to full-on panic, or possibly puke all over him, Kate nods her head and takes a deep breath. She really wasn’t cut out much for suspense.
It takes another fifteen minutes before the border patrol comes to their window, and with a few smiles and a flash of their shiny fake passports, it’s over.
“Move along,” the officer says, and Vanessa carefully steers past them all with a friendly wave.
They don’t say much until the checkpoint’s long vanished from sight, afraid to break the spell, until suddenly Richie’s laughing and Vanessa’s hitting the wheel in giddy relief and Kate reconsiders the puking as her stomach settles.
“No cops, no looking over our shoulder for a few days,” Richie says, his eyes cast out the window. “Sounds like heaven.”
“Well, viva la Mexico, brother,” Seth replies.
“It’s just viva Mexico.”
“Shut up, Richard.”
But Seth’s smiling when he says it, one of those rare, genuine Seth-smiles, and Kate starts to think things might actually, truly be okay.
-
It gets dark a few hours after they cross the border, so Vanessa drives until they find a decent-looking motel to stay at for the night. Once she’s parked the car, Seth sticks a wad of cash in Kate’s hand, waving her off.
“Do your thing, princess.”
Kate’s always the one to check them in at the motels—something about: no one looks at your face and thinks you’re trouble. The comment had made her scowl, kicking Seth’s leg in retaliation, but they all agreed Kate was their best shot at anonymity. So, here she is, lying to an old lady about some missionary retreat that brought her and her siblings to Mexico.
“I hope cash is alright,” she says in jilted Spanish, keeping her eyes open and wide.
Naturally, the lady eats up, just like all the others have before. For good measure, Kate takes the woman’s hands in her own and says, “Que Dios te bendiga.” She looked that one up on Google.
Once she’s pocketed the keys to their room, Kate waves the three of them over, trying not to feel guilty about deceiving nice old ladies.
“Nice work, Baby,” Vanessa calls before barreling past everyone to steal the bathroom for a shower.
Like clockwork, Seth and Richie throw their guns on the table and jackets on the bed.
“We’ll head out early tomorrow,” Seth says. “Get a head start. Richie knows the way better than I do, so he’ll take the lead with navigating.”
“I think we should celebrate tonight,” Vanessa calls out.
“Celebrate what, exactly?” Seth yells back.
Half undressed, Vanessa opens the bathroom door, her hand on one hip. “Celebrate not getting arrested, first of all. We’re in Mexico. I wanna get drunk and forget about all the stupid shit we have to deal with, beginning with the fact that I’m about to meet a guy named Sex Machine.”
Seth rolls his eyes to the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “We’re not here to fucking party, Ness. We’re here to find Tanner, as soon as possible.”
“And we will, babe,” she replies, dropping the attitude for a sweet, sultry voice. God, she’s good. “I promise, we’ll be out first thing in the morning. But just for tonight, don’t you wanna have a little fun?”
Kate glances between the two, not sure who’s side she wants to be on. Fun does sound good, but who knows how Vanessa’s currently defining fun.
“Ness, I don’t know—”
“C’mon, brother, lighten up,” Richie interjects. “Tanner’s not going anywhere, and neither is Malvado.”
Groaning, because there’s no point in fighting Vanessa and Richie, Seth throws a hand up. “Whatever. Fine. But I want us all up early, and no bullshit tonight. None.”
“Of course, babe,” Vanessa says, grinning.
Richie just nods his head, and Kate’s looking at him already when he turns to her, something serious in his face.
“Baby,” Seth calls, stealing her attention. His eyes move between her and Richie, piercing, and she tries not to seem affected. “No trouble tonight, alright?”
“Yeah,” Kate replies. “No trouble, Seth. Promise.”
-
It turns out the town has a bar close by (according to the now-suspicious old lady), so they head out on foot, Vanessa and Kate walking side-by-side with Seth and Richie trailing a few feet behind.
The boys’ chatter swells in the night air while a warm breeze touches Kate’s cheek, and she thinks, really, this is sort of nice—
“Baby,” Vanessa says, interrupting her thoughts. “You ever fucked a guy?”
“Vanessa.” Kate nearly gives herself whiplash checking over her shoulder for Seth and Richie.
“They can’t hear us. Too busy talking about themselves.”
Kate says nothing for a long moment, hoping silence will end the conversation.
“Are you gonna answer the question?”
Unsuccessful.
She considers lying, and then considers changing the subject, and then almost just turns back to join Seth and Richie. But Vanessa’s too persistent for any of that, so Kate finally just sighs and says, “No, I haven’t.”
“I figured,” Vanessa replies, not unkindly. “And you’ve never, like, taken it up the ass for Jesus or anything either?”
“Oh my God, Vanessa, no. Can we please stop talking about this?” Kate breathes, fighting the urge to actually run away from her.
“Sorry, Baby. I’m not—this is coming out all wrong.” Vanessa rubs a hand on her forehead, frowning. “I’m just trying to… get to know you.”
“And you started with that?”
Vanessa shrugs. “It’s usually a fair question.”
“So you think it’s normal to go around asking people about their sex lives?”
“Sometimes,” Vanessa says. “I don’t know, Baby. It’s hard with you. You’re just so different from the people I’m used to being around in this business. So… innocent.”
“Innocent?” Kate echoes, bitter. “You don’t—”
Vanessa cuts her off quickly. “I’m not saying you haven’t been through shit. We all have. Only reason we’re here in the first place, right?” A pause. “But you’re not like me, or Seth, or Richard. You know that.”
Kate doesn’t reply, eyes now fixed on the ground. That’s the last thing she wants to hear.
“I just think you need to watch out for yourself, Baby,” Vanessa continues, quiet. “Know the people you’re surrounded by.”
Kate frowns. “I do know them.”
“Do you? Do you really?”
They look at each other, and weirdly, it’s the first time Kate’s ever felt seen by Vanessa—as if she's finally finding something worthwhile to look at.
Kate wants to ask Vanessa what she means, wonders why she’s saying this now, wants to push the words back out from her brain, but suddenly Seth’s there, his arm wrapping around Vanessa’s waist.
“Welcome to El Hoyo, ladies,” he says, and just ahead, Kate can see the words written in a large neon sign above a wooden door.
The bar’s bigger than Kate imagined, the biggest in the entire lot, and the whole strip seems to buzz with activity. Loud music pulses from inside the bar, infectious, and Seth grins.
“I could really use a fucking drink.”
“Look who’s in the party mood,” Vanessa teases, the strangeness on her face already cleared away.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
Kissing his cheek, Vanessa laughs and pulls him inside. Kate tries to follow, but her legs are shaking for some reason, and when Richie’s hand settles low on her back she forgets to move altogether.
“What about you, Baby?” he asks, mouth skimming the shell of her ear. “You in the party mood?”
The sound of her fake name in his mouth like that, his voice low and so, so close, makes her feel even shakier. She’s stuck between thinking about the look in Vanessa’s eyes and Richie’s hand on her and whether or not she should even be here, so she says nothing, all the words drying up in her throat.
Something about her must look wrong, because Richie moves to her side, the heat of him impossible to ignore. “You don’t have to be afraid with me.”
Without waiting for a reply this time, he guides them both inside, pulling Kate past the front entrance and into a gaudy haze of cigarette smoke and dim red lights. The music is a lot louder, filling the whole room with sound, and at the center of is a big crowd of people dancing. Or… kind of dancing. Her eyes adjust slowly to the low lighting, and she watches the details of it come together—bodies messy, hungry, seeking friction any place they can reach, and it’s intimate and vulgar and heady all at once. Blinking, Kate forces herself to look away, anywhere else.
There’s an long, countertop bar to their left, and she’s relieved to see Seth and Vanessa there instead of on the dance floor.
“I like this place,” Vanessa announces as Kate and Richie approach, his hand falling away from her. “Good energy.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Seth mutters. He turns to Kate. “What do you want?”
“A rum and Coke,” she replies, too fast.
Seth shrugs, nods his head, and she has no idea why she just ordered that. It was her dad's drink of choice after her mom died. She hates rum.
They flag down the bartender and order their rounds, Richie and Seth sticking with whiskey while Vanessa gathers three shots of tequila for herself. Despite being mad at her stupid, bitter drink, Kate sips at it slowly, not wanting to be wasteful. She’s halfway done with it by the time the boys are on their second.
Kate finds her gaze wandering over and over again to the dance floor, entranced by the fevered grind of the crowd. While the rum starts to warm her insides, the place where Richie’s hand had been feels cold, and she wonders if he’ll touch her again tonight—if he wants to do to her what all those people are doing to each other.
“Why’re you so red, Baby?” Seth says, something knowing in his voice. She turns and narrows her eyes at him.
“Alcohol makes me hot,” she snarks back, before immediately wanting to eat her words.
“Makes you hot, huh?”
But before Seth can finish his sentence, Vanessa cuts in, smiling: “Let’s go dance, Baby.”
It’s a demand, not a request. Vanessa doesn’t wait for a reaction, or maybe a hell no, instead grabbing Kate by the elbow and dragging her right into the thick of the crowd.
“Do you ever ask anyone to do anything?” Kate yells over the music.
“Why the hell would I do that?” Vanessa yells back.
“I don’t know, politeness?”
“Boring. Now hurry up and finish your drink.”
Kate almost throws her drink, seething, but decides it’s not worth it since Vanessa would probably punch her. Or shoot her.
With a scowl, she lifts the cup to her lips and swallows, letting the bitter taste coat her tongue as it slips down her throat.
“Atta girl,” Vanessa says, plucking the cup from her hand to throw on the ground.
Then they’re moving, Vanessa’s hands on her hips, and Kate’s never done this before—like, holy shit, she’s never done this before. She stumbles a bit, stiff, and shakes her head in embarrassment.
“I can’t really dance,” she pleads. “Honestly, I prefer to watch.”
“Everyone can dance, jailbait.”
“Not everyone!”
Kate jolts, tries to escape and slink away, but Vanessa’s grip is firm. It forces her to follow the steady pulse of the crowd, even as she fights against it.
Vanessa puts her mouth to Kate’s ear. “Stop thinking so much. Just feel it.”
It takes her a minute, but between Vanessa and the rum and the warmth in her chest and the pleasant fogginess in her brain, Kate lets herself go—lets herself simply be.
Other people sway around them as they start to really dance, hands brushing Kate’s stomach, her back, her shoulders. Vanessa twirls and spins Kate like a pretty accessory, an exhibit on display for the whole room to see, and Kate doesn’t mind it. Maybe even likes it, she thinks, putting her hands in her hair and tilting her head back for the show.
At some point Vanessa turns Kate so that her back is pressed up against Vanessa’s chest. It’s dirtier like this, more feeling than dancing, and Vanessa murmurs to her: “They’re watching us.”
Kate doesn’t need to ask who; already knows when she glances across the room that it’s Seth and Richie’s eyes on them. Their gaze feels hot, hungry, and she wonders what it would mean if they walked across the room to join in—if Richie pressed up against her like this, if Seth took her hips in his hands and pulled her closer.
“C’mon,” Vanessa murmurs as Kate’s head falls back, her whole body on fire. “Let’s give ‘em something to look at.”
They start to move again, Vanessa’s hips and hands touching everywhere, her lips moving to Kate’s collarbone, and this isn’t Kate Fuller. Kate Fuller would never do this, would never dance like this at a bar in the middle of fucking Mexico while two men watched.
But she is Kate. Or Baby. Or maybe just something in-between, with her body grinding against Vanessa’s and the taste of rum in her mouth no longer bitter.
Eventually, Kate stumbles away from Vanessa and the crowd, needing a second to breathe. How the hell did people do this for so long?
“I’m gonna find a bathroom.”
“You good?”
She doesn't reply, just heads to where the restrooms look like they could be down some smoky dark hallway across the room. There’s no light as she walks, nothing to guide her, and she’s too tipsy to just stand there and let her eyes adjust. Instead, she starts stubbornly feeling around in the darkness for a handle to a door, or really anything.
“Kate,” someone says behind her, and she whirls around, disoriented.
It’s Richie. Of course it’s Richie. He stalks forward, barely illuminated, and she can’t read his face at all; only feels his hand curl around her wrist, hears his quiet, uneven exhale.
There’s a pause with the two of them standing there in the darkness, and she thinks he might take her back to the bar, get her a water—not mention the fact that he just eye-fucked her from across the room while she grinded on Seth’s girlfriend. Doesn’t know if she wants him to do that or not. Doesn’t know anything except that his hand is still on her wrist and she can’t bring herself to move.
After a long moment, he finally seems to make a decision. He doesn’t go back to the bar, but takes them further down the hall, out a door with a glaring salida sign. Kate thinks to ask him where they’re going, opens her mouth to say it out loud, but then her back’s against a wall and he’s swallowing the words with a kiss.
Kate moans, loud, surprised, and Christ, it’s been days since they’ve done this. She thought she’d remembered it vividly enough—how Richie seems to drink her up and eat her alive when he kisses her, giving everything all at once. But no, her memory is nothing, nothing compared to the real thing.
Brick slides against the exposed skin of her back, scratching, stinging, but she can’t bring herself to care, only pulls Richie closer as he takes her bottom lip between his teeth.
“Richie—”
“So pretty,” he says, voice hoarse. “Love how you say my name.”
He’s curved over her, arms bracketing her against the wall, and his lips move insatiably to her jaw, her neck. When he finds her collarbone, he sinks his teeth in hard enough that she jerks against him with a cry, and then his tongue is soothing it, tender. It takes her a second to realize he’s marked her where Vanessa’s mouth had been before—a kiss for a bite.
“You were watching me out there,” she breathes.
He doesn’t say anything; nips at her again, gentler.
“I wanted you to watch me. Wanted—” and she can’t finish, doesn’t even know what she wants; just knows that Richie has it, and she’s desperate for it to be hers.
“What, Kate?” he murmurs, grinding against her. “Tell me. I wanna hear you.”
She tries to answer, spell it out like it’s playing in her head, but it’s so hard to focus when he’s touching her like this, and the words just come out rushed, frenzied. “Wanted you to touch me. Wanted you, want you, so much, always—”
Richie groans, and then his hand’s up her skirt, his palm pressing at her over her panties, and she can just feel how soaked she is. His mouth claims hers again, possessive, and God, he’s never touched her like this before. Nobody’s ever touched her like this before. When he presses harder with the heel of his hand, she wants to ask why, why did we wait so long?
He circles her slow and steady, maddening, infuriating, and her head falls back hard against the brick wall. She can’t think. Her brain and mouth seem disconnected from the desperate roll of her hips, the noises building in her throat. All concentration has narrowed to his hand and the wetness seeping down her thighs, and she needs more, so much more.
“Richie, please.”
“Kate, Baby, I know,” he says, like he can’t decide between them. And then his finger is pushing her panties aside, curling into her with a sinful, slick noise, and oh.
His fingers are so much longer than hers, bigger, the stretch of it inside her making her whine. He gathers her up closer, thumb circling her clit while his other finger curls deliciously, and she tries to imagine someone walking around the corner—seeing what Richie’s doing to her, what she’s letting him do. Can’t even bring herself to care.
Another finger slides in, moving just right, rubbing a spot inside of her that makes her legs turn to jelly, and Richie knows what he’s doing. Must’ve done this with enough girls to learn how to move his hand just so, effortless, picking her apart with ease.
She decides she doesn’t like that thought at all. Doesn’t wanna think about Richie touching any other girls like this. He pumps his fingers in faster and faster, drawing another whimper out of her, and because she wants to claim him and crawl inside him and remove the trace of anyone else, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, nothing gentle about it.
He lets out a guttural moan, and suddenly his hand stills inside of her, and she’s so close, she sobs.
“Don’t stop,” Kate says, bucking her hips. “Please, please, don’t—”
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes, “no fucking clue how crazy you make me.”
She wants to tell him, I know better than you do, I know you, I know, but then he’s thrusting his fingers in and out faster, harder, giving her everything, and she can’t get enough breath in her lungs to make the words form.
With his free hand, he hitches Kate’s leg up around his waist, changing the angle, giving him easier access and fuck, it’s better, she can’t—
“Richie.”
“Just like that, baby, come on.”
And she can’t hold on, can’t do anything but let him break her apart as the coil inside her snaps and unravels. She yells out something to someone—Richie, God, Jesus, please, fuck—and presses her face into his chest, eyes squeezed shut as the waves of it take her over.
Distantly, she feels him wrap an arm around her waist to hold her up, and it’s the smell and taste of him all over, just Richie, keeping her grounded. She wants to bury herself in him.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, though he can’t see her with his face pressed into her hair. “So gorgeous.”
They stand there for a moment, breathing hard, trying to come back together somehow. As Richie sighs, he pulls back a bit, eyes roving over her face with his Richie-stare. She watches him back just as greedily, sees him pull his hand out from under her skirt to stick his fingers in his mouth. Tasting her.
“Good lord,” she whispers, for lack of anything else to say.
He licks them clean, not an ounce of shame in him, and she can feel her lips parted open as she stares back. Instinctively, her thighs rub together, trying to find friction, and the slick wet there makes her shiver.
“Sweeter than honey,” he says as he pulls his fingers out with a pop.
Before she can manage to feel embarrassed about it, he’s kissing her again, hungry, sharing the taste of Kate Fuller between them. She doesn’t think it tastes very sweet really, but she also doesn’t care, because all Kate wants to do is go back to the motel and do all that again and more, more more more.
“Where the hell did they go?” Seth’s voice rings out from somewhere close by, making them jerk away from each other.
“Seth,” she says at the same time Richie says, “Fuck.”
Kate laughs, bubbly and tipsy and so warm, and Richie doesn’t move away from her.
“You were meant to be here,” he says. “With me.”
She's never wanted to believe anything more in her life.
-
Kate sneaks back to the motel on her own, telling Richie to say she got tired and needed a shower. There’s enough truth in it that Seth might just believe it, if he doesn’t see any of the marks on her, or him, and somehow also becomes extremely clueless and non-Seth.
Walking into their room, the smell of Richie on her makes her buzz, head dizzy, and she thinks a cold shower might be a good idea. Wash off the evidence of Richie’s hands, his tongue, his body—
Groaning, Kate hightails it to the bathroom, stripping down and jumping in the shower as soon as the water comes out. It’s so icy she starts to shiver, but she relishes it, wants to feel something other than the relentless mix of emotions in the pit of her stomach.
How is it possible to want so much, she wonders, when you know so little about someone? She doesn’t know Richie’s parents’ names, or what it was like for him growing up. She doesn't know what he dreamt of as a kid, if he ever had braces, who his first girlfriend was.
She does know that Richie drinks his orange juice with no pulp; that he always shoots just a tiny bit to the left; that he loves his brother to the end of the world and back. Is that knowing someone? Is that enough?
And what does Richie know about her? She’s never told him her last name, though he might’ve figured that out on his own. Never told him her mom killed herself, or that her dad was driving her brother home drunk when they crashed. He doesn’t know that she used to pray every day for God to take her somewhere else, anywhere else, and that sometimes she wonders if that’s what the Geckos found her for.
But maybe none of that matters. Because when Richie looks at her—he’s always looking through her, down to the marrow of herself. He always sees her.
There’s a loud knock on the bathroom door, making Kate nearly jump out of her skin. Richie’s voice comes through much softer: “Kate, it’s me. Seth and Vanessa will be here in a few minutes.”
“Um,” she says, “okay. Gimme a second.”
Kate turns the shower off and steps out slowly, pulling a towel tight around her body. Her pajamas are outside on the bed, and it feels silly to hide after what they just did, so she simply takes a deep breath and opens the door to the room.
Richie’s far on the other side, a lit cigarette in his mouth. Her hands shake with desire and something else, something scarier.
“Where’d you get the picture?” she asks, suddenly.
Richie blinks at her, like he’s coming out of a trance. “What?”
“The passport photo. You said you’d tell me later.”
“Oh,” Richie says. “Found it after looking through your foster system file.”
“Looking through… what?” Kate asks in a high-pitched whisper.
“Should've done it a long time ago, when you first started working for us, but never got around to tracking it down." He frowns, serious. "After you recognized Malvado, I wasn't gonna take any chances with your name and face out there. So I found everything on you and wiped it.”
Kate just stands there, dumbfounded, feeling more naked than if she’d just taken the damn towel off.
“Does that… does that mean you know about—”
“I didn’t read anything,” Richie says. “Just skimmed and trashed whatever had you attached to it. Kept the photo because I thought we’d need it.”
“Oh.”
Richie throws the cigarette into an ash tray and then he’s suddenly right in front of her, tall and long and Jesus, this room is too fucking small.
“I’m not afraid to hear about the shit that’s happened to you, Kate,” he murmurs, finger brushing across her cheek. “But I’m not gonna force it. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and then, “Thank you.”
He kisses her once, soft, before pulling away.
“You might wanna get dressed before they show up,” he says, eyes flicking to the bruise he left on her. Blushing, Kate grabs her pajamas and rushes back into the bathroom.
She stays there, sink running, heart racing, until she can hear Seth and Vanessa drunkenly stumble into the room.
“How the fuck did you get here so fast?” Seth slurs.
“Got long legs, idiot.”
“You calling me fucking short?”
“Both of you shut the fuck up, my head is killing me.”
When Kate walks out, Seth doesn’t even give her a second glance, flopping face-first onto the bed with a groan. Thank you alcohol.
Later, once Vanessa’s passed out next to her and the boys are both dead to the world, Kate plays everything over again in her head: Richie’s hand against her back, Seth’s eyes on her from across the room, Vanessa’s sad-looking face, Richie’s teeth on her neck, Richie, Richie, Richie. He’d told her she was meant to be there, with him, and it has to be true; feels the rightness of it deep in her bones.
They’re mine, Kate thinks, curling into a ball. I know where I belong.
Unwillingly, Vanessa’s words echo back at her, insistent. But do you? Do you really?