Wreck Me

by Jessica Sorensen

  Quinton chuckles under his breath. "Always wanting to help. You're too sweet, Nova Reed."

  "Whatever. So are you." She sticks her tongue out at him then looks expectantly at me.

  I don't know what to say to her, what will make me feel better.

  "I just need to know I can do this," I say lamely.

  "Do what?" she asks, nibbling on the end of a chicken strip.

  I shrug. "Be the kind of person that can handle all of this and be good at it."

  "Only you know the answer to that," She places the chicken strip down on a plate. "But if you want my opinion, you're a way better person than you used to be, and I think if you want to handle it, you can."

  "You're a good person," Quinton chimes as he peels off the top from a condiment of barbeque sauce and plops down in a chair. "The day on the roof proved that."

  The three of us grow quiet. I'm sure we're all thinking about that life-changing day on the roof that feels ages ago.

  "I need to clear my head," I mumble, going into the bathroom to change into my running clothes, hoping that maybe I can run this out and figure out what to do.

  Right and wrong.

  Good and bad.

  How can I tell the difference?

  After I put on my sneakers, I hurry outside and jog down the road. The farther I get, the faster my legs carry me. Maybe I can sweat Avery out of my system. It'd be so much easier if I could. On the contrary, even when I'm breathless, soaking wet, and my lungs ache, I can't stop thinking about how much I want to be with her. I quickly realize it's going to take a lot more than running to forget about Avery.

  But I'm not even sure that I want to.

  Chapter 31

  The best birthday ever.

  Avery

  "You're going to chop off your finger if you keep attacking the tomatoes like that," Jax advises me for the tenth time. "Seriously, Avery, you need to put the knife down."

  We're in the kitchen, preparing to barbeque kabobs. It's nearing time for Nova, Quinton, and Tristan to show up, and I'm basically waiting around to get the text that'll say they're not coming. It wouldn't be the first time I got blown off for my birthday, and the fact that Tristan didn't say anything at the grocery store leads me to believe he's not coming. I shouldn't care--if I'd followed my own rules, I wouldn't care. But I broke every promise I made to myself that day after the fire, and now I'm in the exact same place I was two and a half years ago--caught up in a guy and allowing him to affect my emotions.

  "Okay, give me the knife." Jax steps up beside me, pries my hand from the knife, then sets it down on the cutting board next to a demolished pile of chopped up tomatoes. "No more cooking for you."

  "Give me something else to do, then," I beg as I wipe the tomato juice off my hands with a paper towel.

  "No way." He shoos me away. "Not only is it your birthday, but you're a sucky cook. Besides, I hate help when it comes to food. I'm a one man show."

  "But I need to do something," I complain as I back toward the kitchen sink. "Otherwise, I'll go crazy." I turn on the faucet to wash my hands then dry them off with a towel.

  "You need to relax." Jax walks over to the cupboard below the sink to grab the trash bin. "They'll show up. I promise."

  "Who said I was worried about that?"

  "Me and these tomatoes." He nods his head at the mush of tomatoes on the cutting board. "You butchered your worry out on them." He peels off a paper towel from the roll and cleans up the mess off the counter and into the trash. Then he puts the trash away and returns to the bag of tomatoes and the knife. "I know you're nervous"--he selects a tomato--"but everything will be fine."

  "Easy for you to say." I sink down onto one of the barstools around the island. "I wasn't ready to introduce Mason to them."

  "You mean Tristan?" He peers over his shoulder with accusation. "You know we can handle you having your own life, right? I have my own." He stares out the window at the backyard where Mason is running around on the grass, kicking a ball. "Even Mason has his own life, in his own five-year-old way."

  I rest my chin on my hand. "Since when do you have a life? I've never even seen you go out on dates."

  "What do you think I do when I'm not here?" he asks, picking up the knife. "I go out on dates all the time and hang out with people at school. What do you think I was doing last Sunday when I left for the entire day? I just don't do it a lot, because I don't have time."

  Because he's always helping me.

  "You were out with a girl on Sunday?" I ask, elevating my head and my brows. "You should have said something. I wouldn't have bugged you to pick up milk and stuff." I shake my head, upset. "Why didn't you say anything when you're always bugging me to be more open?"

  "Because I knew you would react this way, and it's not a big deal. And neither is me being out on a date." He starts slicing the tomato. "I'm eighteen years old. I need to go out, or I'll get sexually frustrated like you are, but that doesn't mean I feel like I need to tell you about every date so you can flip out and think you're burdening me by letting me help you."

  I snatch a nearby dishrag and chuck it at him. "First off, I know you should be going out. And second, if you're seeing someone, then I think I should meet her, even if it's just casual. It's my job as your sister to make sure she's good enough for you."

  "When it gets serious, then you can meet her, but I don't want to bring anyone into our lives until I know she's a keeper."

  "That's what I've been trying to do for years. But now people are coming in, just like that."

  "Do me a favor. Give it a try and see how today goes. You might be surprised. I have my fingers crossed that this Tristan guy will sweep you off your feet, and you'll live happily ever after so I don't have to worry about you turning into an old shrew with fifteen cats."

  "Happily ever afters don't exist." I push up from the stool. "And I wouldn't have cats. I'm a dog person."

  I retreat from the kitchen to get my cigarettes from my bedroom. It's approaching five o'clock, which means, if they are coming, they will be pulling up soon. I decide to smoke while I make a trip to the mailbox, figuring multitasking means less time I'll spend overanalyzing my life.

  I regret the trip, though, as I puff on my cigarette and sift through nothing except bills. Water. Power. My tuition is also due. Not that it's high because I qualify for grants, but a few hundred bucks equals a month dancing on the bar counter.

  As I trudge back up the driveway, I frown at the envelopes in my hand. I really need to find a new, better job. Need to find Mason a daycare. Need to stop thinking about my dad and this Taylor girl who says she's my sister. Need. Need. Need. So many things.

  Pausing when I reach the pavement of the walkway, I take a moment to peer up at the clouds. "What are you trying to tell me with all this?" I ask the sky, even though the stars aren't out. "With the bills. Conner. Taylor. Tristan... Is that why I ran into him today? Because I don't know how that's helping him. I'm a mess right now... The last thing he needs is a mess in his life." Silence is my only response. "You know, I really should stop seeking answers from you. I would have if you wouldn't have showed up when I died."

  As someone clears their throat from nearby, I look back down from the sky. My neighbor, Mrs. Felish, is standing at the fence line, staring at me like I've lost my damn mind. And I probably have.

  I give her a small smile and a wave, then she tensely waves back before scurrying into her house and probably locking the door.

  Great. Now the neighbors think I'm crazy.

  Maybe I am.

  Sighing, I linger near the driveway while finishing off my cigarette, stuck in my own head. I eventually take out my phone and stare at the call log of the last phone number that called me. Taylor hasn't called me back, although why would she when I made it clear I don't want to talk to her?

  A few seconds later, I hear the boom of a radio. I glance down the street to see a bright red Chevy Nova driving up the road. It's a rare enough car that I know who it belong
s to. It pulls into my driveway and parks in front of the garage next to my Jeep. The music is cranked up, and Nova is belting out lyrics at the top of her lungs as she flails her arms around. From the passenger seat, Quinton is laughing at her. I can't see into the backseat, so I have no idea if Tristan is in there.

  Just chill out. Everything will be okay. It's probably better if he doesn't show up.

  The music silences and then Nova gets out of the car, enthusiastically waving. "Hey!" She raises a plastic bag that she's holding. "We brought snacks."

  "Awesome." I point over my shoulder at the house as I drop the cigarette in a flowerpot near the garage. "You can take them inside, but I have to warn you that my brother is cooking, and he's super weird about people being in the kitchen with him."

  Nova nods as she rounds the back of the Jeep and Quinton hurries up to her and takes her hand. I'm about to head in the house because it doesn't look like anyone else is getting out of the car, but mid-turn Tristan emerges from the passenger side. The sight of him makes me acutely aware that not only am I a liar to other people, but I lie to myself all the time. Because it is better that he showed up, no matter what I've been telling myself.

  I want him here.

  With me.

  Want to let him in.

  Inside the walls of my house.

  Of me.

  His gaze drifts across the lines of my home before his eyes automatically find me and trace the curves of my body. Then that lopsided grin forms as he makes his way up the sidewalk toward me.

  "Hey." He's holding something in his hand, still wearing the same black T-shirt he had on at the store, but the over shirt is gone. Faded jeans ride low on his hips and a collection of leather bands is on his wrist. Even with the dark and punkish attire, his bright blue eyes, and blond hair scream sexy, pretty boy charmer.

  "Hey." I wave at him, hyperaware that Nova and Quinton have scurried into the house and left us alone outside.

  "So..." He stops in front of me then stuffs his hand into his pocket, seeming uncomfortable.

  "So..." I say, equally as uncomfortable.

  We trade a look, then we both sputter into laughter at the awkwardness.

  "Wow, I think this is one of the most awkward greetings we've had." He scratches the back of his neck, glancing over at a little yapping dog in Mrs. Felish's yard.

  "Sorry," I tell him, uncertain what I'm even apologizing for.

  Apparently he's confused by the apology too, because when his blue eyes return to me, his forehead is creased with puzzlement. "Sorry for what?"

  "For... not saying anything about Jax and Mason."

  "No, it's okay." He frees a breath as he lowers his arm to his side. "I get why you didn't tell me."

  My brows shoot up. "You do? Really?"

  He hesitantly nods. "Yeah, thanks to a very long explanation from Quinton, of all people."

  "Really?" I ask incredulously. "Quinton explained it to you?"

  "I guess his aunt's a single mom," he explains, seeming stiff and tense. "And is super protective of letting people in."

  "That's not really what I meant. I was just shocked Quinton talked to you because I'm pretty sure all I've ever heard him say is hi--he's so quiet."

  "Yeah, but get a few Red Bulls in him, and he'll talk your head off like a school girl."

  I giggle and somehow the noise breaks the tension and Tristan's shoulders loosen.

  "I feel like you're telling all his secrets to me," I say, coiling a strand of my hair around my finger.

  "I kind of am." He chuckles, but then shakes his head. "Enough about Quinton. This day is about you." He extends his arm and unfolds his fingers around an object. "Happy birthday, Avery."

  I stare down at the candy necklace in his palm, oddly touched by the small gesture. "It's the prettiest necklace I've ever seen."

  "I don't know about that, but it is made of sugar, and we both know how much you like that. I still can't believe you ate that entire box of cupcakes in a day and still look like you do." His gaze flows over the curve of my hips, lines of my waist, and the swells of my breasts, causing my body temperature to jolt up a notch.

  "Hey, you ate some of my cupcakes, too," I say and when he grins, I realize just how dirty it sounded. "I didn't mean it like that."

  "I know." With his free hand, he reaches toward me and moves my fingers away from my hair, making a jolt of heat blaze through my body. I swallow hard as he drops the candy necklace into the palm of my hand. Then he casually drapes an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. "But if you ever want me to eat your cupcakes, you can just say so. I'm totally down for it."

  "You are such a dork." I sweep my hair to the side, slip the candy necklace over my head, and then we start up the stairs for the screen door.

  I pause before we enter the house when I spot Mason inside, skipping around in the kitchen. "Hey, so I just want to make sure that you're okay with all of this." I gesture at the door. "Because, if you're not, I totally get it. I just need you to one hundred percent decide before we go in."

  "I'm okay with it," he assures me with barely any hesitancy, which makes me question if he really thought about this and what it means.

  "Are you sure?" I check again. "Because you seemed a little weird at the store, and I don't want you to feel at all pressured or uncertain. We can just keep our friendship to strictly work, like we originally planned."

  "No, you originally planned that. I was trying to rack up enough brownie points so I could hang out with you like this," he throws out there bluntly. "And I was quiet at the store because you shocked the shit out of me. I had no idea... and I thought... Well, I don't know what I thought."

  "But what do you think now?" I ask, anxiously chewing on the candy necklace. "Because it's really important. Not for me, but for..." I point over my shoulder through the screen where I know he can see Mason.

  He stares at the screen, a small smile touching his lips when Mason belts out a few inappropriate lyrics to a song he shouldn't know.

  I groan in disapproval. "I told Jax not to listen to that when he was in the car."

  His lips quirk. "It's kind of funny."

  "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's going to get calls from the school when he drops the f-bomb."

  Tristan laughs, but the hilarity vanishes when his gaze reunites with mine. "You asked me what I think now, right?" When I nod, a slow breath falters from his lips. Then, with a slow inhale, his expression shifts, and suddenly, he's backing me up against the wall just to the side of the screen door. "Are you sure? Because I need you to be sure before I answer you." He places a hand on each side of my head, trapping me between his arms, almost in desperation.

  The intensity pouring off of him makes it difficult to breathe and even harder to look away from him. "Y-yeah, I'm sure," I stammer. I never, ever stammer, so I'm not sure what to make of it. As doubt etches his face, I try again. "Yes, please tell me what you think about all this because I really, really need to know."

  He nods, marginally bending his elbows to move closer, and I nervously nibble some more on the candy necklace. "When I got home today," he begins, "I ran, which I've been doing a lot for the last four months, pretty much since the last time I did drugs. Usually, I run because I'm outrunning my addiction, but today, I was trying to outrun something else." Carrying my gaze, he pauses, and I think I understand what he means--me. "But instead of outrunning it, I ended up wanting it more, so I stopped running, and now I'm here with you."

  "Is it because of what happened last night with Conner?" I have to ask, needing to fully understand his reason before we walk through that door. "Because I'm okay. I have Jax, so I'm not in this alone. I wouldn't think any less of you if you bailed out. My life is intense, and I'm sure you don't need that."

  "You think I'm here because I feel guilty your ex-husband's a fucking douche?" he asks, confounded.

  "I don't know what to think. I've never done this before..." I motion between the two of us. "Whatever
this is."

  "Well, I don't feel guilty. At all. I'm just worried that..." He trails off, deliberating. "Well, are you sure you want me around? Considering... my past."

  "You mean your past that's like mine?" I point out. "Because that would be very hypocritical of me."

  "Mine's not exactly like yours," he stresses. "I've done a lot of stuff I'm not proud of, that you don't even know about yet. But I want to tell you... when you're... I'm... if we're ever ready."

  My fingers drift over the fabric of my dress, right over my stomach and the scars. "Doesn't everyone have a tainted past in a way?" When he frowns, I shake my head. "Look, I'll admit it. I was purposefully keeping my family from you and everyone else because I don't want them getting wrecked, either. I made a promise a long time ago that it would never happen, that I wouldn't let anyone into my life I didn't trust."

  "But you're letting me in now?"

  "Yeah... I guess I trust you." I shrug, gazing off over his shoulder, my nerves bubbling. "I think it was the kiss last night. It earned you like a hundred brownie points." When I look at him, he's full on grinning. "Don't get all smug. It wasn't just the kiss; it was also what you did for me when you kissed me... how safe you made me feel."