Wreck Me

She matches my smug grin as she leans over the table and I get a straight view down her shirt. "Oh, I am."

  I have the strongest urge to move closer to her, slide my hands across her breasts, feel her soft skin, taste her lips just like the night in the alleyway.

  "And P.S.," she says with a cocky grin. "You have cheese on your chin." She reclines back in her seat as she taps her finger against her chin. "Right here."

  I dab my chin with a napkin. "Ha, ha, you're a fucking riot. How long have I had it on there?"

  "Just a couple of minutes."

  I shake my head. "What else aren't you telling me? Do I have sauce on my face? Stuff in my teeth?"

  She smiles, but there's a trace of sadness to it. "Actually there's a lot I'm not telling you." Before I can ask her what she means by that, Avery throws a napkin at my face. "The cheese is still on there," she chuckles. "You need me to get it off for you?"

  I consider her offer but then decide that her touching me might not be the best idea. "No, I can get it myself."

  I wipe the cheese from my chin with the napkin. What is she not telling me? By the look on her face when she said it, I'm guessing a lot of complex and personal stuff. And it stings because she knows more about me than most, even in the short time we've spent together.

  She never gives me a chance to try to pry into her life some more though, because she keeps the rest of the conversation light. Talking about school. Asking me questions about Wyoming. Telling me about fun places to go around here. By the time we're pulling back up to the motel, I've almost forgotten why she picked me up in the first place.

  "Thanks for this," I tell her as I open the door. "And I mean that. I needed to get out of that motel room and out of my own head."

  "Anytime," she replies then genuinely smiles. "And I mean that. If you need me at all Tristan, you can call me. In fact, I think we should exchange numbers."

  Our friendship feels official as we trade cellphones to type in our contact information. I smile as I hand her phone back to her and she returns my elation. But I want more. I want to ask her to come inside, stay a little longer, continue talking because it makes everything so much easier. But fearing she'll say no, I climb out of the car.

  "See you tomorrow?" she calls out as I'm getting ready to shut the door.

  "Yeah, see you tomorrow. I never should have missed so much work in the first place."

  The biggest and most beautiful smile I have ever seen graces her face. "Good." She bites on her lip, letting her gaze linger on me before she blinks and shoves the shifter into reverse.

  I close the door and watch her as she backs away, unable to look away until she's pulled out onto the road and the Jeep is out of sight. Then I turn to go into the motel room, but slam to a halt when I spot my neighbor hurrying in my direction.

  His eyes are glazed over and he keeps scratching at his frail arms. "Hey Tristan, you got that stuff I told you to hold for me?"

  I blink at him. "What stuff?"

  He stops in front of me, reeking of cigarette smoke, B.O., and ripe garbage. "That stuff that I gave you the other night." His paranoid gaze darts around the parking lot, to the main office, and then to the nearby room doors before landing back on me. "I gave it to you to hold for me because I was worried about the cops. You said you would guard it like it was your life until I needed it again. And I want it back now."

  Fucking shit. God dammit. Why? Why? Why? How do I always end up in these messes?

  "Yeah, look... about that." I flex my fingers, feeling tense because I know whatever I say isn't going to make the situation any better. "I was pretty drunk that night and I honestly can't remember anything that happened."

  He blinks confusedly. "So... Where are my drugs?"

  I shrug. "Gone."

  His eyelids lower as he narrows his eyes while his hand stops scratching and balls into a tight fist. "Gone where?"

  "Probably in the sewer system." I glance at the motel room, wondering if Nova and Quinton are home and if they're watching this scene unfold. If they are, they probably think I'm trying to score drugs, like I used to do all the time.

  He inches toward me, and part of me wants to match his move, intimidate his scrawny crackhead ass. Then I remember how many times I nearly got killed over drug disputes. All those months of getting my ass beat and I wasn't happy. And while I'm not necessarily happy right now, I feel decent after spending time with Avery. And I'm not ready to lose that feeling yet, so I decide to try to smooth the situation over, be smart for once.

  "I can pay you for it," I tell him, even though I have hardly any money. "How much do I owe you? Like a hundred?" I'm basing my calculations on how much crystal was in that bag.

  His expression darkens. "Five hundred."

  I laugh in his face. "No way in hell was there five hundred dollars worth of crystal in that bag."

  "Call it interest for being a pain in my ass." He smirks, his teeth stained and cracked.

  Did I look and smell that disgusting when I was on drugs?

  "You know, I'm not afraid of you and your scrawny ass, right?" I gradually inch toward him, deciding it's time to intimidate him because there's no way in hell I'm giving this asshole five hundred dollars. Nor do I have that kind of cash.

  "I'm sure you're not," he sneers, "but it's not me that's asking for the drugs back or the money."

  "And who the fuck is asking?"

  "Ever heard the name Skullman?"

  "No, but it sounds like a stupid fucking name."

  He laughs cynically. "I'm going to give you three days to give me the money and then I'm going to tell Skullman you have his drugs and to collect from you." With that, he spins on his heels and staggers back to his room.

  Part of me wants to chase him down and beat his ass, but I'm too sober to react so irrationally. So I just watch him walk away then lock myself in my motel room, wondering how I get myself into these messes even when I'm blackout drunk.

  Chapter 20

  When it storms, I want to curl up and cry my eyes out with the rain.

  Avery

  The evening after I made the weird friendship pact with Tristan, I ride the bus home from work, feeling out of my element. I've spent so much time alone and now I've welcomed someone into my life and I feel... weird. Anger, I can handle. Confused, sure. Stressed, of course--I'm that every day. But weird just baffles me because it isn't even a real emotion. It's like a placeholder for how I really feel.

  "What do you do when you feel weird?" I ask Jax as I enter the house and toss my bag onto the end table. It's just after ten o'clock and I reek of beer and hot wings. There is grease in my hair and I have double vision from my drowsiness. It was a long night at work. Really, really long.

  Jax looks comfortable as he lounges on the sofa in his pajamas, watching the television. When I shut the door behind me, he picks up the remote and turns down the volume.

  "That's a random question," he says as he sets the remote down on the armrest.

  "Yeah, I know." I kick off my shoes in the foyer, pick up the small stack of mail from the coffee table, and sink into the armchair across from him. "But I'm feeling weird now and I don't want to feel weird."

  "Weird over what?" He yawns as he stretches his arms above his head. "Does it have anything to do with that guy you want to help?"

  "Maybe." I sort through the envelopes, frowning when I come across one stamped with a bright red URGENT. I grind my teeth as I tear open the envelope. I already know what it is, but reading it still feels like a kick in the stomach.

  During the last few months Conner and I were married, he took out a couple of credit cards in my name and maxed them out. I tried to contact a lawyer about it, but that had gone nowhere and by the time I started paying off the debt, I was already behind. Interest and fees had been tacked on and while I've been on top of paying them off, I missed a payment last month because the Jeep needed new tires. I wince when I see that on top of two twenty-five dollar monthly payments, I now have to pay a thirty-fiv
e dollar late fee and the interest has gone up.

  "Everything okay?" Jax asks with concern.

  I distractedly look up from the bill. "What? Yeah? Huh?"

  "You look like you're going to be sick." He points at the papers in my hand. "What is that?"

  "Nothing." I tuck the bill back into the envelope and move it to the bottom of the stack. "Just a bill."

  "What kind of bill?"

  "Just a regular one."

  Shaking his head, he slumps back in the sofa. "Avery, I thought we talked about this. I can't help you unless you tell me what it is you need help with."

  "Jax, I swear it's nothing," I tell him because I don't want to talk about bills with him.

  I sift through the water bill, electric, insurance, and only relax when I reach the last envelope, open it up, and find that it's a birthday card for me. My birthday's not for a week, but this card is probably the only one I'll get.

  "Oh, lookie." I wave the card around in the air to be silly. "The dentist sent me a birthday card. I feel so special." I get up and cross the room, placing the birthday card on the shelf next to a portrait of Mason, Jax, and I hanging out at the beach.

  "Avery, you know they send those out to all their clients, right?" Jax reaches for a can of soda on the coffee table. "It's almost like getting a flier in the mail."

  "Hey, why are you raining on my parade?" I fake frown. "This is probably the only card I'll get and I want to appreciate the fact that someone took the time to send it, even if it was part of their job description."

  "You're so weird sometimes." He swallows a gulp of soda then fiddles with the tab. "But while we're talking about birthdays, what do you want to do for yours?"

  "Watch television in my pajamas," I reply thoughtfully as I return to the chair, "and eat nothing but ice cream all day."

  "Well, you can do that."--he puts the soda can between his legs then sits back--"but Mason and I want to do something for you too."

  "Oh, you and Mason have been plotting, huh?"

  "Yes, and we've come up with all sorts of ideas, including kidnapping you and forcing you to go out to dinner with us."

  "Sounds treacherous," I joke as I glance at the stack of bills on the table. "But honestly, if you want to have dinner, I'd way rather have it here."

  He briefly contemplates my awesome, money saving idea. "That's fine as long as I get to cook, and you'll let me cook something other than soup and grilled cheese."

  My lip juts out. "But those are my favorite."

  "Avery," he warns, sternly pointing at me. "I'm not going to have this. You will have fun on your birthday or you won't get any ice cream."

  I heave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but only because you threatened me with ice cream."

  He smiles then stands up. "Now make a list of all the stuff you want so that Mason can pick from it." He starts toward the hallway then halts. "Just make sure it's stuff a five-year-old can give you."

  "Yes, boss." I salute him and he rolls his eyes.

  "I'm going to go do one of my assignments. If you want to talk about being weird more, you know where to find me."

  I nod, but when I do get up from the sofa it's only to go into my room and change into my pajamas. It starts to rain by the time I climb under the covers and settle in bed with my laptop, preparing to do some homework. Raindrops splatter against the window as thunder booms from outside. It reminds me of the many houses I lived in that had leaky ceilings. Every time it would storm, the water would drip inside. It makes it tough to relax and I almost get out of bed to go to the kitchen and read the note on the cupboard. But the idea seems less comforting with what's going on with Tristan and me.

  What is going on with and me and Tristan? We're friends. Friends that flirt? Is that what we are? Or is he more than that? My penitence? But what am I even saving him from?

  "Why the heck can't I stop thinking about this?" I shake my head at myself, fluff the pillow, and rotate to my side.

  Whatever we are, it's messing with my head in both a good and bad way.

  ***

  When I fall asleep, I plummet into a nightmare filled with bright orange flames. I'm in the fire again with Tristan and he's holding out his hand to me. His blue eyes look shadowy as smoke and flames blaze around us, melting the walls, the floor, the ceiling--everything--away.

  Help me, he silently pleads.

  I want to help him. Badly. But I'm not sure how.

  How do I help you?

  Please tell me?

  Someone please explain.

  This time I get as far as reaching for him and our fingers connect before we're engulfed in flames.

  I wake up soaked in sweat, weighted down, and the heaviness only increases when I realize the real reason I was startled awake is because someone is banging on the front door. I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It's past midnight, way too late for anyone to be stopping by for a casual visit.

  My first thought is something's wrong, maybe there's something happening in the neighborhood, which would explain why a dog is having barking fits.

  I stumble out of bed and pad through the hallway into the living room. Rain drizzles against the windows and pitter-patters against the roof. The house is silent, and I start to wonder if I imagined the banging, but then comes another knock. I jump back, startled. That's when I notice the shadow of a figure through the frosted glass on the upper section of the front door.

  I remain frozen through three more knocks, freaked out, and hoping whoever it is will go away. But by the seventh knock I arrive at the conclusion that's not happening and I start across the living room, debating whether to turn the light on.

  I'm halfway to the front door when I hear it.

  Or him anyway.

  "Avery, open the door. I know you're in there."

  The sound of Conner's voice suffocates the oxygen from of my lungs. Every one of my hairs stands on end as I stop dead in my tracks and gape in horror at the door.

  "Avery, I know you're home!" he shouts over the rainstorm. "Your Jeep's in the driveway."

  I can't find my voice or the strength to move my feet, and my lungs won't function properly. There's only a door keeping him away from me, and I've seen Conner break down a lot of doors. What if he breaks it down? What if he gets inside? What will he do?

  "I just want to talk to you," he says softly. "And maybe Mason."

  The mention of our son snaps me out of my trance.

  I stride toward the door. "It's late, Conner. Mason's in bed. But even if he was awake, you wouldn't get to talk to him."

  He pauses, pressing his face up against the glass. "He's my son, too, Avery."

  Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes, illuminating the living room. My heart matches the boom, my pulse pounding as my hands begin to tremble. I tell myself it's from the storm, but I'm lying to myself.

  "Only by blood." I grip the doorknob, not because I'm going to open the door, but because my knees are getting wobbly and I'm worried that I'll collapse. "He doesn't even know you."

  "Because you won't let me fucking see him," he growls, his palms flattening against the glass, causing me to flinch back. "You're such a fucking cunt, Avery. God dammit!"

  I recoil every time his voice goes up a notch and my heart rate quickens, the same reaction I've always had to his yelling. I instantly feel weak because I haven't been able to overcome my fear of him yet.

  "You weren't even around when we lived with you, Conner."

  "And who the fucks fault was that?" he snaps. "You're such an unstable mom and a dirty little slut. Don't think I don't know what you've been up to. Screwing around with that guy that was stupid enough to get in my way."

  Frustration barrels through me. And fear. And cowardice. All the things I felt every day I was married to Conner, at least toward the end.

  "It was your fault, you asshole! You have no right to be watching what I do!" I wince at the loudness of my voice and quickly lower my tone. "Now go away before I call the cops."
br />   "Fuck you! You dirty little cunt! You're still the same!" He slams his hands against the glass and I worry he's going to break it. Just like I worry that he might be high or drunk. Sober he's an asshole. Drunk he's a violent asshole that has no control over his temper. "I don't give a shit about the damn cops! Call them! I. Don't. Give. A. Shit. About. ANYTHING!"

  "Fine, I will call them." I start to turn to go get my phone from my bedroom.

  "I already did," Jax says from behind me.

  I whirl around the rest of the way, my eyes sliding to the baseball bat in Jax's hand. "What are you doing with that?"

  "What I have to do." He steps toward the door, gripping the bat. "Leave asshole," he says, speaking loudly and firm.

  The slamming on the glass ceases. "Who the fuck is that?" Conner growls furiously.

  When neither of us responds, he begins pounding his fist against the glass. The entire house shakes. The neighbor's dog barks. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes. I fear Mason is going to wake up from all the noise.