Wreck Me

  "No... I'm just..." She stares at the car with uncertainty. "I don't know what I am, but thank you." She plucks the car from my hand and faintly smiles before putting the toy into her pocket. "He's going to think you're the coolest person ever."

  "That's because I am." I nudge her side with my elbow.

  "You really are." She stares at me in a way that causes my pulse to quicken in both fear and desire.

  Grabbing her by the hips, I drag her closer to me, needing her nearer, worried that at any moment she's going to discover my sins and leave me. "Come here."

  Her lips quirk as I zero in on her mouth, and then she surrenders into my pull, our bodies colliding as our lips reunite. We haven't kissed since her birthday, and fuck, we need to start doing it more because it's fucking incredible. So full of want. Heat. Need. Life.

  I feel completely alive for the first time in...

  Well, forever.

  As our kiss deepens, my fingers travel around to the back of her neck, to her tattoo she still has yet to let me see. The moment I brush the inked flesh, she shivers and shifts her neck away from my hand.

  "Not yet," she whispers, then continues to explore my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip.

  "When?" I ask, gasping for air, completely consumed by her as I tug at her hair, pleading for her to get closer even though our bodies are already melded together.

  "I'm not sure," she breathes against my mouth. "Ask me later."

  It's the first time she's said not yet, which means she's starting to consider letting me see the tattoo. She's starting to trust me more, and I grow even guiltier for still having secrets.

  I want to tell her.

  But I can't lose her.

  "I'm not as amazing as you think," I whisper helplessly.

  "Yes, you are." She swings her leg over me and straddles my lap.

  My cock instantly goes hard as she grinds her hips against mine. I respond by gripping her waist and grinding back against her. At any moment, someone could walk around the house and see us, but I don't care.

  About anything other than her.

  This.

  Us.

  I just wish I deserved it.

  She moans as I bite down on her lip, her head falling back as my hands cup her breasts from the outside of her shirt.

  "You're an utterly amazing person who builds houses and makes me feel safe... who lets me cry in front of him... who gives Mason little toy cars... and who has the most amazing tongue ever..."

  But I'm not who you think I am.

  I wish I could say it aloud and that she'd be okay with it.

  With me.

  With my past.

  But I can't bring myself to tell her, so instead I remain silent, pretending to be someone else, being an imposter.

  ***

  Later that day, I'm back at the motel. It's late and I'm alone, feeling like shit. Avery is at work, and Nova and Quinton are out. Me, I have the night off. So I do some schoolwork then end up watching television and drown in my past sins until Nova walks into the room, looking bushed and bleary eyed, her shirt un-tucked and her shoelaces untied.

  "Is everything okay?" I ask as she tosses the keys onto the table.

  She nods as she flops down face first on the bed beside mine. "I'm just so tired... and I've been thinking... about Delilah... I just wish things wouldn't have ended that way for her. And sometimes I feel guilty."

  I pick up the remote and turn the television off. "Yeah, me too." I sit up and swing my legs over the bed, planting my feet onto the carpet. "But why do you feel guilty?"

  She turns her head to look at me. "Because I knew about Dylan and didn't help her. I tried to talk some sense into her a couple of times, but that's it."

  "We all did that, Nova. And if anyone should feel guilty, it's me. I lived with her and heard the fighting every day."

  "Yeah, but you had your own problems."

  "Problems I brought on myself."

  "Hey, I've been there, too." She pushes up to sit on the mattress with the comforter tangled around her. "Drugs are easy to sink into. It's the coming out part that's hard."

  "Yes, it is," I mutter, glancing out the window. "It still feels like drugs control my life so much."

  "Tristan, it's normal to crave them still. And what happened with the neighbor... We've all had slipups."

  "I'm not talking about the neighbor," I mutter, looking back at her.

  Her brows knit. "Then what are you talking about?"

  I shrug, staring at the space of carpet in front of my feet. "Some of the stuff I did... it still haunts me."

  "Do you want to talk about it? You used to talk to me about stuff all the time."

  "I know." I lift my gaze to her. "But talking to you about it isn't going to solve the problem."

  "Then what is?"

  "Talking to Avery... because that's the real problem... telling her about some of the things I did."

  Nova scoots to the edge of the bed. "You're not a bad person."

  "You might not be saying that if you knew the truth," I say miserably. "If you knew some of the stuff I did."

  She shakes her head. "You may think that, but trust me, Quinton told me a lot of bad stuff that happened while he was living on the streets. And, while I found a lot of it horrifying, I still wanted to be with him because I love him."

  "But Avery and I aren't in love. We're just friends."

  She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Even if that's true, if she was a real friend, she wouldn't think less of you. And from what I know about her, I don't think she will. She has her own shit, too, you know."

  "Yeah, I guess," I mutter, still unconvinced.

  "I'm just giving you some things to think about." She gets up from the bed and pats my shoulder. "I think, when it all comes down to it, it's really up to you and how close to Avery you want to be. If you care for her and want to be with her, then tell her. If you don't, then don't worry about it. We'll be gone in a month anyway." She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving her final words to haunt me.

  What do I want exactly? Such a small question with a broad answer. I want to be happy--I'm starting to see that now. I want to keep improving. Want to keep going forward instead of backward. Want to go forward with Avery.

  I'm scared shitless as I open my phone and compose a text to her.

  Me: We need to talk... There's something really important that I need to tell you.

  Chapter 33

  Maybe it's time to make up my own mind.

  Avery

  There was an exact moment when I stopped thinking about my past so much. I'm not exactly sure when it occurred or how it happened other than, one day, I realized my nightmares were less frequent. The thing is, I've always thought that, when I'd come back to life, I owed the stars for bringing me back, that I was supposed to help whoever cried out. For a month, I thought that person was Tristan, but now I'm not so sure anymore, because sometimes it feels like he's helping me as much as I'm helping him. I worry I'm doing everything wrong again, yet I can't seem to stop myself from falling for him.

  It's been a week since my birthday, a week since that amazing birthday present happened. Tristan and I haven't taken things further, only sharing a few kisses and spending a lot of time laughing. With each smile, touch, exchange, I feel myself getting more lost in him. In us. And, while it's in no way like what I had with Conner, I fear I'll lose myself in someone again.

  So I fight the battle.

  Of falling too deeply.

  But with each breath.

  Kiss.

  Touch.

  I tumble farther.

  Into the unknown.

  Desperate to hold on.

  Yet desperate to let go.

  It's Sunday evening. In just an hour, I'll be heading to the beach for my "grownup birthday party" as Charissa put it. I'm nervous. Excited. A cluster fuck of emotions. The mom in me feels guilty for not only leaving Mason for the night, but for making Jax babysit. I did manage to get Mason
a spot in daycare three times a week to give Jax a breather and go be an eighteen-year-old. It's going to kill me financially, but after a lot of deliberating, I've decided to ask Benny to start paying me for the accounting work, like Tristan suggested, at least until I get a new job. I have a couple of interviews lined up over the couple of weeks, but I'm nervous, because they're better than the other jobs I've had in the past. One is for a manager position at a restaurant and the other is for a secretary at a local dealership. I'm crossing my fingers that I'm good enough to be considered for the positions and double-crossing my fingers that I'll be able to handle a nine to five job. I figure it won't be any worse than my schedule now; the extra work hours can just replace the time I spend at the Habitat home, which will be finished up in a month.

  "So when should I pick you up?" Tristan asks as he strolls over to the bar counter. Sundays are usually a happy medium between weekdays and weekends. Today there's a handful of the rowdier crew playing pool and a small group performing karaoke--just enough customers that the staff doesn't get bored, but also enough we don't have time to chat with each other too much. This is the first opportunity Tristan and I have gotten to converse, so I've yet to ask him what the hell was up with the random text he sent me last night.

  "If you want, we can just leave from here," I say as I sweep the floor behind the counter. "I brought my stuff and everything. I just have to chat with Benny before we leave."

  He props his elbows on the countertop and leans over to not-so-discreetly check out my ass. "About what?"

  "About paying me for the accounting work from now on." I balance the broom against the wall and start stacking the clean cups up on top of each other.

  "Good," he says straightforwardly. "You shouldn't be doing that shit for free."

  "I know," I wholeheartedly agree. "I just hope he sees it that way."

  "Well, if he doesn't, then you shouldn't do it anymore. In fact, I think you should tell him he not only has to pay you extra for the accounting work, but that you're not going to dance on the counter anymore."

  "I have to do that." I grab a rag from a drawer below the beer tap. "I need the money... But I did apply for a couple of jobs recently that don't require shaking my ass. I have a few interviews over the next couple of weeks." When he grins, excited for me, I add, "Don't get too excited yet. I still have to get hired for one of them... and I'm a little doubtful that's going to happen."

  "Avery, you're a smart girl. Too smart to be doing that shit. In fact, you should have already been working somewhere else, somewhere better, and I'm sure there's a ton of people that will want to hire you--a ton of people that will want you."

  I'm no longer sure if he's talking about the job anymore.

  My hair veils my face as I wipe the countertop down. "I've done some pretty dumb stuff in my life and working here doesn't even come close to the worst of it. And if I have to keep working at the bar, then I will. It's probably where I belong anyway."

  He sighs. "Well, my money is that in a few weeks, you'll be putting all of this behind you." He glances at the clock on the wall behind me and then moves his arms away from the counter. "I brought my swim shorts with me, so whenever you're ready, we can go."

  "Wait, what car are we driving?"

  "I borrowed Nova's." He grins as he reaches over and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You didn't think I was going to let you drive on our first official date, did you?"

  "We've been on dates," I protest. "A few of them."

  He nibbles on his bottom lip, making me think about how amazing those lips are, how many times I've tasted them, how I want to taste them right now. "Hanging out at the motel and your house doesn't count. We're never alone. And as much as I love spending time with Nova and Quinton or Mason and Jax, we technically haven't done the alone thing yet."

  "It counts in my book," I say flatly as I put out a few bowls of peanuts onto the countertop. "And I don't have much time for alone time."

  "I know." He cups my cheek and gently smoothes his thumb over my cheekbone. "And I'm not saying you have to spend a bunch of time alone with me. I'm only saying I'm driving tonight. It'll give us time to talk."

  "About the thing you texted me last night? Because that's been driving me crazy."

  The concern in his expression makes my stomach churn. What could he possibly want to talk to me about that has him worried like that?

  "I know and I'm sorry." His neck muscles work as he forces a lump down in his throat. "I just needed to text you so I would go through with it... So, please, will you let me drive us?"

  I surrender, throwing my hands up in the air. "Fine, let me go back and talk to Benny real quick, and then we can hit the road. Charissa's been texting me like crazy, wondering when we're headed out there. She'll probably only stop when I say we're on our way."

  "Okay, see you in a few," he offers me a tired smile before turning on his heels. But he spins back around and shovels a handful of peanuts from the bowl. "And, Avery, good luck." His lips tug to a smile then he stuffs the peanuts in his mouth.

  "Thanks," I say with an uneven breath. "I'm going to need it."

  Once he's out of the bar, I tell Tammy, the other bartender working today, that I'm getting ready to leave. Then I collect my purse, trudge upstairs, and rap on Benny's office door. I'm super nervous to the point where I worry I'm going to have to use my purse for a barf bag. Before I can empty my stomach, though, Benny calls me in.

  I square my shoulders before I enter. "Hey," I greet him with a confident smile, even though I'm a bundle of nerves.

  He peers up from the stack of folders and ruffled stack of papers in front of him, a smile curving at his lips. "Hey, Avery. I thought you were leaving for your birthday thing."

  "I am." I grip the handle of my purse as I make my way past the metal filing cabinet and to the desk. "But I need to talk to you about something first."

  "Of course." He scoots the folders aside and signals for me to have a seat, so I plop my ass down on the leather chair in front of his desk. "You can talk to me about anything."

  "I hope that's true." I cough to clear my throat. "I'll just get straight to the point. I think I should start being paid for doing the extra accounting stuff and payroll I've been doing for the last couple of months."

  Apparently, when he meant I could talk to him about anything, he meant anything but a raise, because his kind expression promptly turns unfriendly. "I don't think that's possible. The bar's really struggling."

  "Well, considering I keep track of your profits, I know that's not true," I tell him, irked that he's flat out lying to me.

  "Yeah, but I've got loans to pay off and a lot of debt, and a raise just isn't possible." He reclines in the chair and puts his hands behind his head. "Now, what you could do is dance a little bit more. That always brings in a lot of cash flow for me."

  "I don't want to do that." My tone is clipped. "I don't even like doing it three times a week."

  "And I find that strange. It didn't seem to bother you until recently, and it's got me wondering why. What's changed that you care so much about simply dancing on a counter? Or why you're suddenly up here asking for more money when you never have before?"

  "Nothing's changed... I just feel like I should be paid for the work I do. And I've always hated dancing."

  He lowers his hands and sits up in the chair. "You know what I think? I think that all of this might stem from a new guy in your life."

  I give him a blank stare. "This isn't about Tristan. He doesn't even care what I do." It's a lie, but Benny doesn't know that.

  "I doubt that," he replies, annoyed. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

  "I don't want to have this conversation with you. I just came up here to ask if I could have a raise."

  "Well, if that's all you want, then the answer is no," he says tersely. "I'm sorry. I really wish I could, but it's out of my hands right now. But perhaps in a few months or so."

  "Okay, then." I rise from the chair, want
ing to say more, put him in his place, but that would be risking mine and Tristan's jobs so, I keep my mouth zipped.

  "Avery."

  My muscles ravel into tight knots as I twist back around to face him. "Yes?"

  As he stands from his chair and crosses the room in calculated strides, I suddenly feel like a cornered cat. Images of fire flash vividly through my mind.

  "I know you're under a lot of stress over money and Conner being out of jail." He halts in front of me and gives my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm here for you. Whether it's to talk or not." He glances at my lips and then he dares a peek at my cleavage before his gaze skates back up to my face again. "I could help take care of you, you know. In fact, I'd love to."

  I'm not sure what he's implying or how exactly he'll take care of me, but I don't give a shit. I just want to get out of this damn office so I can breathe again because the walls are closing in, melting away.