Chapter 1: Smart Girls Do Dumb Shit

Here we go---the first chapter of Bodie's book belongs to Marley! I really think she has some explaining to do, don't you?

Dark Horse is the song, because Marley is looking like a bit of a dangerous sorceress to Bodie in this chapter. Ironic that he sees Marley as far more dangerous to him than Arabella, at this point.

Our first look at Jasmine/Marley. Yes, I don't usually do this, but I'm faceclaiming a celebrity for this one (Halsey). Only because I wanted an authentically biracial person to illuminate the point that  racial identity does not always perfectly align with one's appearance. Halsey for example, looks white but says she identifies as black, and she continually changes her appearance to reflect her mood, not her race, and doesn't really worry about "appropriating" anything. She's just herself.  Which is what Marley does at this point in her life. Marley and Bodie both have to say about their identity as the story progresses. Anyway....here's a side by side of our "Smart Girl" as both Jasmine and Marley:

Marley

All my life, people have told me what a smart girl I am. It started when I was three years old and I could sing the Star Spangled Banner perfectly, pronouncing all the words without any errors. My dad used to take me to Fenway to see the Red Sox play, and when people heard me, singing my tiny heart out, they would tell me, "You're such a smart girl."

I kept hearing how smart I was...all the way to the age of fifteen when I finished high school via homeschooling and made a perfect score on the ACT. College recruiters from all over the country said what "an intelligent young woman" I was and were eager to help me plan my future.

I didn't really believe it anymore, though. Because right around my sixteenth birthday, I found a well-hidden packet of paperwork in my parent's home while I was looking for a place to hide a Christmas present, and I realized I had failed to make two crucial observations that almost any person of normal intelligence should have seen.

I had failed to pick up on the clues my whole life—that I was adopted, and that I was biracial.

Maybe it was because I was home schooled and very sheltered. Or maybe it's just because I'm very light-skinned with racially ambiguous hair. People sometimes accuse me now of being "white-passing" on the rare occasions I share that I'm bi-racial, but the truth is, growing up I didn't know I was "passing." I thought I was white. My parents told me my olive skin came from our Italian heritage, because they didn't want to tell me the truth—that I was adopted.

When I finally figured it out...I freaked. My whole identity was called into question.

I started to do dumb shit

I mean, really dumb shit.

Instead of confronting my parents about the secret they had kept from me my whole life, I ran away from home at sixteen. Mine was an open adoption because I guess my parents thought one day they would share the information about my birth mother with me. Her name, a photograph of her, and an old address was included in my adoption paperwork. So I copied down all that information and used it to find her. When I did—not in Birmingham like she had been, but in Atlanta now— the things she told me sent me into a real tailspin.

I felt like...a terrible, awful mistake.

So I did something even stupider. I didn't go home. I wandered around Altanta for a week...lost in every a way a person can be lost. That's when Daemon found me.

So then, the stupid continued. I took up with a gang leader—a drug dealer. I knew he did terrible things, but I had never met anyone as magnetic as Daemon Turner, and at the time I was in a very vulnerable place. Thanks to that stellar choices I made while I was with him, I ended up incarcerated for eighteen months.

After that, I did make better choices. For awhile. I kept my nose clean in jail—well, after the first time another inmate broke it, that is. I reconciled with my parents and went to family therapy to work out some of the issues that had sent me running away from home. In fact, therapy was so helpful to me, I decided to become a therapist. I finished college in two and half years and got my phD and did my clinical hours and became a person that helps other people with their problems. I thought my own problems—and making bad choices because of them—were over.

But I was wrong, because in the most important arena of life—in personal relationships—I keep fucking up and doing dumb shit.

I had two extremely lukewarm relationships with men because I never wanted another relationship anywhere close to the kind I had with Daemon, and they made me feel "safe." Mostly because they didn't make me feel much at all. I almost even married one, but apparently he found someone he didn't feel so lukewarm about. And took her to bed in our apartment.

I didn't learn my lesson with unavailable men even after Marc and Elliot. Lately I've been crushing on a rock star that is very much in love with a woman who very much loves him back and is pregnant with his baby.

I know that. I know Adam loves Mac and Mac loves Adam.

But it's hard not to crush on Adam Heartley, because he's damn near perfect. I defy any straight woman not to go a little soft and squishy if he turns his caring, humble, sincere attention on you—even if you know he only means it in an innocent and friendly way.

Someone should really walk ahead of Adam with a warning sign: Look Away-Dude Does Not Know His Own Power.

I guess he doesn't really need a sign, since he's sporting a wedding ring now. I'm totally over crushing on Adam, especially now that I saw how frantic he was over Mac's pregnancy scare. It made me really realize how silly and unreal my crush on him was in the first place.

Yeah, to be a smart girl, I've done some really dumb shit.

But this thing I am doing now?

It's easily the second most mind-blowingly fuckstastically insane thing I've ever done.

Hanging around Soundcrush, putting my face in front of Bodie, pursuing a friendship with Adam, agreeing to be Trace's therapist, and letting Bodie live in ignorance of who I am? Or who I pretended to be, while he knew me?

It's not going to end well. Not at all. And I know that. Eventually he'll realize who I am, and when he does, I can't imagine how he's going to react.

Why the fuck am I doing this?

Maybe I have a personality disorder. I run the list and think about the clinical definitions. Dissociative identity disorder maybe? Like a super-villain with an alter ego? Like Selina Kyle who didn't always know she was also Catwoman? And even though I'm reformed—I've put Catwoman behind me, is there a part of me that is still Catwoman? I mean, Jasmine? A part of me that...wants Bodie to look at me the way he once did? Or a part of me that is still running games, like Daemon taught me?

I'm not sure. I am I should just walk away from all of my associations with Soundcrush. That would be the wisest thing.

Yes, that's exactly what I should do, but for some reason...I can't. It just...it gets to me...that Bodie doesn't recognize me. I could never, in a million years, forget him. And yes, I used to have braids and yes, I used to tan when I stayed with Daemon to look like I had a little more natural color because he liked it like that, and yes, my parents sprang for a nose job that repaired some of the damage from my one prison fight and it changed the way I look slightly, but I can't believe I look that different. It's like...he doesn't really see me. Like he saw me in the Lunar Lounge parking lot from a distance, labeled me as a "white girl" and hasn't really seen me since—not once.

And I know, that when most people see me, they do see a white girl. Just like when people look at Halsey and have no idea she's biracial. And it's true that I was raised in a completely white family and I basically identify as white because of that, but I can't forget those two years I spent in Atlanta. I can't forget Bodie's old neighborhood or the life I lived there. I can't forget Daemon and the lessons he taught me. I can't forget Bodie either, because you don't forget the person that tries to reach out to pluck you from a sea of confusion and self-doubt when you are drowning. It was my fault that I was so slippery at the time, and couldn't hold on to the hand he offered.

He's changed, though. He's not the same sweet, observant guy he used to be. Now he's so full of himself. Everything is a big joke to him. Even that girl he's dating or whatever. I'm twenty-nine years old, and that's how I know that Bodie is twenty-eight. Does he really think it's cool to be messing around with nineteen year old Arabella Burns—especially when she acts like she's fourteen?

Maybe I'm sensitive about that, because of the age and power gap that I had with Daemon, but Bodie has no idea how bad that dynamic can go. It's like he doesn't care. He's so...stupid, now.

Like me, I guess.

Because as much as I don't need the complication of Clayton "Bodie" Jamison in my life—it just irks the crap out of me that he doesn't recognize me. The part of me that wants to accept the dodged bullet and fade away from Soundcrush before my life gets really rock star crazy is warring with the part of me that wants to snap my fingers in his face and yell, "Open your eyes, Clayton! It's me—Jasmine!"

"Marley?" a warm voice says. "You still with me?"

Shit. I got so lost in my thoughts I kind of forgot I'm on a walk with Kade. We've spent the entire day together, first at opening day of the Call-Out Festival and then at the Soundcrush afterparty. And yesterday, we bonded over Mac's pregnancy crisis and keeping the crazy rock stars from going off the deep end with worry. It's been an intense weekend, and I definitely feel like I've know this handsome doctor that's smiling at me for a lot longer than forty eight hours.

The wind on this beach changes direction and suddenly I'm spitting hair and swatting at my completely covered face with my hands. Beside me, Kade chuckles. He pulls off his baseball cap and offers it to me.

I accept it gracefully, tucking my hair in and pulling it through the hole in the back of the hat. Dr Call-Me-Kade, as Soundcrush likes to call him, is another guy who should probably come with a warning label— ATTENTION: Expert Flirt At Work Who Will Charm Your Pants Off.

"You got quiet there for a few minutes. I'd love to know what you were thinking." His voice is husky. He's hoping I was thinking about a hook-up in the dark dunes, I'm pretty sure. I turn to him, considering. He's very handsome. And sharp—he's a surgeon for goodness sake. And very cool. And extremely caring—I saw that at the airport, the way he acted so swiftly and compassionately in Mac's medical emergency. I bet at the hospital where he works, he's basically a rock star in his hot young surgeon set. And if he's a rock star, he's the Trace of his crew. A little bit bad-ass, a lot cocky, but the ultimate caretaker, and so good under pressure. I should totally be into this guy. Who wouldn't want to date a Trace?

Yes, Marley, be smart for once. This sexy, sweet, cool, stud of a surgeon wants to get to know you. Start out right this time.

"I was thinking how smart people sometimes do dumb things," I say. If I'm going to give Kade a chance, it's best to start with a foundation of honesty.

"You mean like killing brain cells?" His lips curl as he clinks his Corona against mine. We're both a little bit past buzzed, easing up on the drunk line. It makes this easier, at least.

I laugh. "That, sure...but I was thinking of something more specific."

"You got a guilty secret, Marley Watkins? I have a few. If you'll tell me one of yours, I'll tell you one of mine." Wow, he's good. He doesn't look at me, he just smiles into the distance and sucks on his beer, like he knows how hot he looks in profile, with his Adam's apple moving like that. Damn, Dr. Call-Me-Kade is a player.

But sometimes it's fun to play.

"You first," I say.

"Okay. Mine's a pretty ugly truth, though." His voice loses its huskiness. He looks at me curiously. "You sure you want to go there?"

"Shoot," I assure him. I'm a therapist. People tell me all kinds of disturbing things. I doubt there's anything he could say that would shock me.

"When I lose a patient, I...I lose it sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes it gets to me. A few weeks ago, I lost a kid in emergency surgery. Eight years old—car accident. His injuries shouldn't have been fatal—just a ruptured spleen. He had a good prognosis. He went into cardiac arrest on the table. We couldn't get him back. Fuck, I even cracked him and used internal paddles, but he was...gone. After I called his time of death, I went straight to recovery make sure his mother had come through her surgery, and then I went to the family waiting room. I had to tell a thirty year old firefighter that his wife would be fine, but that I had lost his only child. I left the man crying in his family's arms and I went to the on-call room...and trashed the fucking place. Annihilated it. Weeks later, I...I can't shake it, you know? It shouldn't have happened. I should have been able to save that kid. It bothers me I can't remember his face--I barely looked at it—I was more concerned with his spleen and then his heart in my hands. But I remember the father's look of agony. It's burned in," he touches his forehead. "And I remember the look on the face of the intern that I woke up when I threw a chair through the window of the on-call room." He swallows down the rest of his beer. "Shit. Sorry. That was dark. Way too dark for a sunset walk on a beach with a pretty girl I just met."

Wow. Dr. Kade runs deep. Instinct prompts me to squeeze his arm lightly. "That's not dark. That's just...real. The world you live in. I'm sorry you lost your patient, but losing your cool like that? It's not a thing to be ashamed of. As a therapist, I can assure you, I would be more concerned if you weren't bothered by it. You have an incredible skill and incredible responsibility, but you are only human. If the cost of keeping your humanity and compassion is an occasional loss of composure, it's completely worth it. If you stopped feeling loss of life like that, you wouldn't be able to fight as hard for the next life."

He looks at me with mild surprise, and something like respect. "Damn...that's...the most comforting thing that anyone has said to me about it. Thank you, Marley. I really appreciate that. You must be...a kick-ass therapist."

"I try," I wink at him.

His hand brushes mine as we walk, and he lightly pinches my pinky finger, and releases it. "Your turn."

"Okay, but you're going to think I'm crazy."

"I trash on-call rooms like rock stars trash hotel rooms. We just established I'm familiar with crazy."

"This is really crazy, though."

He squints at me with a devilish grin. "Maybe I like crazy girls."

"Well, be careful what you wish for," I mutter. "Okay, here it is. There was a time in my life that I had...sort of...an alter ego."

"What?" he says, his voice lifting in curiosity. "You mean...like an alias? Don't tell me you're a criminal?"

"Well, I suppose you could say that. I have been to jail."

He grins and looks me up and down. "Okay, let me guess. It was a girls gone wild kind of thing. You had a fake id and spent an overnight for drunk and disorderly. Or was it indecent exposure? Marley Watkins," he whispers in teasing flirtation, "Did you get carried away at Mardi Gras and flash your tits?"

I laugh. "You're picturing that scene aren't you?"

His grin is pure devil. "Would it get me in trouble if I said yes?"

I shake my head, because I'm sure he's about to stop picturing me naked. "Not really. But unfortunately that was not my crime. I was incarcerated for laundering four hundred thousand dollars over two years. Money that came from a multi-million dollar drug operation."

He stops walking. He stares at me. "You're...not...kidding, are you?"

I smile bitterly. "If only." I gesture up the beach. "You can go. It's okay. Really."

He tucks his hands beneath his armpits. "No, no, it's not like that. I mean...people make mistakes. Do you know how many times in my life I've done something I could have gone to prison for? Especially when I was younger? Drugs, drunk driving. I've stolen things—sometimes expensive things— as fraternity pranks, stuff like that. You are right. Smart people do stupid shit. I just never got caught. So...what's the story, there? Was it like...your family business or something?"

His body language is a little guarded, but in the twilight I can see his face was still open.

"Exactly the opposite. I ran away from home when I was sixteen. I had a good family growing up but...there was just some crazy drama that went down then, and I didn't handle it well. I left Boston and ended up in Atlanta. Within a month, I took up with a drug dealer. He was...about the age we are now. I became his woman—if you could call me that, since I was barely more than a kid. I kept a house for him. I knew he was a drug dealer and a gang leader, but he never took me around his stash house. I would sometimes mix with his gang and their girls, but it was just social stuff, no drugs or guns or violence. He had a separate house for us, and he would give me money. He got me a fake ID, a fake birth certificate and a fake social. I was Jasmine Jones. He had me set up a couple of bank accounts. Every week, one of his lieutenants would bring me "Daemon's pay" I would put it in the bank account and pay the bills, buy the groceries, shop, get my spray tan and my nails done, buy his liquor and nice clothes for him, whatever. I didn't think about where the money came from. That it was dirty money. Drug money. Blood money. That what I was doing was a crime. I was...completely in denial about what he really was. He was...not that...with me. He treated me like a queen, most of the time, and I was young and naive enough to think that the way he treated me was more important than what kind of person he was. When his operation got raided, we all went down, in one way or another. I didn't even understand the charges against me, until my parents came with an attorney who explained that what I had done was money laundering for an international drug operation. I learned a very hard lesson. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. I was seventeen but I was tried as an adult. I was sentenced to three years in a minimum security facility, but I was paroled after eighteen months."

"Fuck," Kade says his expression a little blank. He rubs his jaw. "Marley...Jesus...that must have been...hell, for you. A fifteen year old girl, getting caught up in that. Going to prison at seventeen."

"It's all good," I say with forced cheerfulness. "I've been...rehabilitated. I won't be making that mistake again." I wave my hand to dismiss my past, aware that my laugh sounds a little crazy.

Kade is staring at me like...I'm a zoo animal. But then, he does something really, really surprising. Heslowly steps forward and hugs me. He doesn't say anything, he just hugs me for a long time.

Finally, he steps back and dips to catch my eyes. "I see a lot people come through the ER at their worst. In pain, in trauma. All kinds of accidents and crime and bad choices and drama. There are very few truly bad people, just a lot of struggling ones that make bad choices. But not all of them can see themselves clearly, or admit where they went wrong. I hear a lot of bullshit and a lot of lies and a lot of self-delusions from people who are in pain with their backs against the wall. And here you are being really brave and really honest about something painful. That, more than anything, shows me what kind of person you are."

I close my eyes. I feel really, really good about Kade. I should tell him the rest, but my brain is buzzing pretty hard and I don't want to mess this last part up. Can I explain it right? "There's one more thing—"

"Yes. There is. You're beautiful." He leans in and kisses me.

His kiss is sweet and sexy. I kind of wish I wasn't so drunk. It would probably feel exhilarating, if I could feel it better. I step closer, hoping the sparkler-sized brightness will explode into fireworks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" A brash voice pushes toward us against wind. "Party foul, Dr. Kade! That ain't no random summer shag you picked up on the beach, that's Soundcrush's Counselor. You can't be pushing up on her when she's drunk!" Bodie is loping towards us with a tin bucket full of Heineken's, and he's at least as drunk as we are.

We step apart, and Kade grins down at me, his arms still around me. "Are you drunk, Marley?"

"Kind of," I admit in a hoarse whisper.

"Shit, I guess Bodie is right." He rubs my arms, still smiling warmly as he steps away.

Bodie arrives and claps it out with Kade. "Sorry to bust up your play, man, but Adam wouldn't like his side piece steppin' out." Kade stiffens slightly, looking at me with much more guardedness than when I just told him I have criminal record and was a drug dealer's dimepiece.

"That is not funny, Bodie." I hiss. God, he can be such a shit.

Bodie grins at me and holds up his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm just playin'. That was a really bad joke. Obviously," he says, striking at Kade lightly in the arm, with lightening quick hands. "Marley is legit. Well, at least...she ain't that kind of girl. She's shot me down more times than I can count."

Kade relaxes, but he doesn't laugh. "Yeah?" he says coolly.

"No," I correct. "I mean, not that I wouldn't—" Bodie makes a gasping sound and clutches at his heart, I roll my eyes, "But I have no idea what he's talking about. There have been no propositions to reject."

Bodie throws and arm around me. "She's right, man. I'm just fucking with you. Listen, though...for real...can I borrow Marley for a minute. I mean...for a session?" his face smoothes into earnestness. "That Disney princess is a piece of work, and I really need to talk to somebody about her."

Kade looks at me, waiting for me to answer Bodie. I sling his arm off my shoulders and turn to face him. "Are you serious? You want relationship counseling?"

Bodie drops his bucket on the sand and puts a hand up. "Swear to god, I really need help. We are in deep shit with the label and they are making me date Arabella to raise her rep. We're supposed to shine like the next Madam, you know? She's a fucking handful and she's driving me crazy, but I have to keep her happy and keep her teen-dream rep up. She's doing everything she can to look like a hoochie and make me look like a total chump."

"That's why you are with her? Because the label put you together?"

He blinks. "Yeah. You didn't know?"

"No. I thought you were actually dating."

Bodie puts two fingers up. "We're fake dating. Scout's Honor."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You weren't a boy scout."

"How do you know?" he challenges. "Why you say that? Because I'm a brother? There are black boy scouts, you know..."

"Yes, but you aren't one of them," I challenge.

He grins. "Fine. I ain't no boy scout. Why are you always giving me a hard time, Marley? You'll counsel Adam, you'll counsel Trace, but you won't counsel me? It hurts." He slaps his heart again, but there's a flash of anger in his eyes. It's contagious, sparking irritation in me.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" I hiss.

"Is that a professional opinion, Dr. Watkins?"

"I'm not a doctor. I mean...I have a phD" I direct that to Kade--I don't think he's actually aware of my credentials. "But I'm not a psychiatrist—not a medical doctor. Just a counselor."

Kade is watching our exchange. He sighs, "Sounds like Bodie could actually use your help, though."

"I can't counsel him right now. I'm...drunk," I admit.

Bodie hands me a Heiney. "So don't charge me. Just talk me down, okay? I'm stressed the fuck out."

"Really?" I look at him suspiciously. He looks pretty damn far from stressed.

Kade is already putting his hands in his pockets and rollin' back on his heels. He gives me a meaningful look. "It's okay. Really. He's right. I'm drunk, you're drunk..."

"I'm drunk too, but no worries man, I ain't gonna push up on this girl." Bodie straightens his spine and his speech at the same time, going all whiteboy. "Seriously. It would be a grievous breach of professionalism. She's the Official Counselor to Soundcrush. We keep our staff relationships clear-cut in our outfit. Right, Marley?"

"I'm not an official anything," I protest weakly, but Kade is already leaning in to give me a casual but flutter-inducing goodbye temple kiss.

"I think I'll head back to the hotel..." he says graciously.

"Don't you worry, man. I'll make sure Marley gets back to her hotel room as soon as we are finished. Call her an Uber myself," Bodie assures him.

Kade smiles and nods at Bodie. "Can we hang at the festival again tomorrow?" Kade asks me.

"I'd like that," I assure him. Bodie slaps hands with him and we wait in silence as Kade makes his way back up the beach.

Once Kade disappears into the Soundcrush rental mansion, Bodie's playful manner seems to dissipate on the wind. He plucks the undrunk beer from my hand, chugs it, drops the empty bottle back in the bucket. He picks up two more. "C'mon, let's drink these Heiney's. We got some catchin' up to do, me and you," he says flatly.

Bodie must be really drunk. It's true that before this weekend, I haven't seen him since Adam retrieved Mac's engagement ring on the Lunar Lounge, but we are hardly on friends in need of a "catch-up." At least from his perspective.

I wave away the beer he's holding out to me. "More beer is not a good idea if you really want to talk about your Arabella problem."

"Pfffft...fuck her. I ain't worried about it if she wants to suck Harry Style's dick."

His words aren't really shocking, but the coldness in his voice is surprisingly chilling to me. "So...why did you just bust up in my..."

"In your what?" Bodie's teeth are bright in the darkening night, but he's not smiling. More like sneering.

"In my...whatever that was with Kade. That was rude, Bodie, and even a rock star should be able to see that."

"That wasn't rude, that was a rescue, girl. You've had at least six beers tonight. That's a lot for a little thing like you. I would never have let you do anything you'd regret in the morning. I owe you that much, I figure."

How does he know how many beers I've had tonight? I mean, he's right...at least that many...but what the hell? Has he been watching me? And what does he mean, he owes me that much? "Oh yeah? How you figure that?"

The small amount of playful bravado that had remained drains from Bodie's face all at once and he looks angry. He turns toward the ocean, and puts his hands in the pockets of his board shorts. After a long moment, he says, "It was my fault you went to prison. I've been thinking about that night a lot today. What I should have done different. I would have been caught anyway, but if I taken a different route, if I had hid you after a few blocks instead of making you keep running with me...if I hadn't got us both caught red-handed, if you hadn't been booked that night with the rest of us, you could have disappeared as soon as you got wind of the raid. Gone back to being...this girl," he gestures at with a sneering chin tip. "Right?"

I stare at him, speechless. He stares right back. The sneer has also drained away. His face is an unreadable mask. He offers me the beer again. "Don't you think it's time we cut the shit, Jaz?"

I take the beer this time. God knows I'm not drunk enough for this. "When did you know?"

"This afternoon. I saw you reading on the beach, and the expression you made at something you read...it was...so fucking obvious to me. Don't know why I didn't see it before," he shrugs. Then he shakes his head, "Naw, that's a lie. I know exactly why I didn't see it before. Cause Jaz was a black girl, and you are a white girl, right Marley? Christ—how the fuck do you do that? Make me question my own perceptions and prejudices?"

"I'm just a person, Bodie. Just like you."

"Naw, you ain't nothing like me, Marley," he says bitterly. "You're a real fucking head trip, that's what you are. You always were. But I think it's about goddamn time you explain yourself. Let's go. Somewhere...quiet." He grabs me by the hand and drags me up the beach.

"Let me go," I say to him calmly, pulling back against his painful grip, digging my heels into the sand. He has a right to be angry, I guess, but no man has treated me like this is twelve years, and I'll be damned if Clayton Jamison is going to drag me around like Daemon Turner did—like I belong to him.

He lets go, but he rounds on me. "You don't fucking think I deserve an explanation for this? What the fuck are you doing here—hiding out in the middle of my band, my life? What kind of game are you playing?"

"I'm not playing a game. You and Adam showed up in my life. You didn't recognize me. I didn't want to rehash the past. Adam called me—repeatedly—for advice. Adam and I becoming friends honestly had nothing to do with you. Then Trace asked me to counsel him and it was hard to say no, because I was already friendly with Adam. That's all separate from you. I never made any attempt to contact you."

"But you damn sure didn't have to to come here, this weekend!" He's yelling now, over the whipping wind. "I want to know why! Why the fuck are you here, Jasmine!?!"

"I wish to fuck I knew!" I yell back, throwing my hands up and turning in the opposite direction.

He grabs me by the arm before I take two steps, whirling me around, ripping Kade's hat off my head and tossing it away. "Did you come to say you were sorry again? Or did you come because you want something from me?"

I want something from him, all right. But it's twelve years too late to get what I want. Still, he does deserve some kind of answer, I guess.

"I came because...I couldn't believe you didn't recognize me!" I yell, shoving him a little. "Do you think, in a million years, I would ever forget your face? Your eyes? Your hair is different now too," I flick his long, bound dreads. "And your clothes are different, and the way you talk and your eyebrows, and you've got all these tats, and you are taller and thinner and you don't even walk like you used to, but I still see you!"

He looks even angrier, his dark brows and dark eyes bearing down on me, shadowed in the moonlight. His jaw muscles pop with tension. "You wanted me to recognize you!?! You wanted this!?! This confrontation!?!" he yells.

I grip his shoulders, push up on my tiptoes into his angry face, forcing him to look at me. "Yes!!!" I spit.

"Bullshit!" he growls. "This is what you came for." He grabs me roughly and kisses the bejesus out of me.

That's when the fireworks start. I guess I wasn't too drunk for them, after all.

Well, Drastic got off to a rather quick start, huh? I hope we can keep the momentum going. I'll probably get a few more chapters out here as I also work on moving Tantric forward, as this first part of Drastic in in Tantric's current past...get it? Got it. Good! WHat are you thoughts about Marley at this point? And Bodie's reaction to her?