Walking Disaster

by Jamie McGuire

  She walked in, swallowed by my clothes, and fell into bed, a residual smile still on her face.

  I watched her for a moment, and she stared back, clearly wondering what I was thinking. The trouble was, even I didn't know. Her eyes slowly traveled down my face to my lips, and then I knew.

  "Night, Pidge," I whispered, turning over, cussing at myself like never before. She was incredibly drunk, though, and I wasn't going to take advantage. Especially not after she'd forgiven me for the spectacle I'd made with Megan.

  Abby fidgeted for several minutes before finally taking a breath. "Trav?" She leaned up on her elbow.

  "Yeah?" I said, not moving. I was afraid if I looked into her eyes, all rational thought would go out the window.

  "I know I'm drunk, and we just got into a ginormous fight over this, but . . ."

  "I'm not having sex with you, so quit asking."

  "What? No!"

  I laughed and turned, looking at her sweet, horrified expression. "What, Pigeon?"

  "This," she said, laying her head on my chest and stretching her arm across my stomach, hugging me close.

  Not what I was expecting. At all. I held up my hand and froze in place, unsure what the hell to do. "You are drunk."

  "I know," she said, shameless.

  No matter how pissed she would be in the morning, I couldn't say no. I relaxed one hand against her back, and the other on her wet hair, and then kissed her forehead. "You are the most confusing woman I've ever met."

  "It's the least you can do after scaring off the only guy that approached me tonight."

  "You mean Ethan the rapist? Yeah, I owe you for that one."

  "Never mind," she said, beginning to pull away.

  My reaction was instantaneous. I held her arm against my stomach. "No, I'm serious. You need to be more careful. If I wasn't there . . . I don't even want to think about it. And now you expect me to apologize for running him off?"

  "I don't want you to apologize. It's not even about that."

  "Then what's it about?" I asked. I'd never begged for anything in my life, but I was silently begging for her to tell me she wanted me. That she cared about me. Something. We were so close. It would just take another inch or so for our lips to touch, and it was a mental feat not to give in to that inch.

  She frowned. "I'm drunk, Travis. It's the only excuse I have."

  "You just want me to hold you until you fall asleep?"

  She didn't answer.

  I turned, looking straight into her eyes. "I should say no to prove a point," I said, my eyebrows pulling together. "But I would hate myself later if I said no and you never asked me again."

  She happily nestled her cheek against my chest. With my arms wrapped around her tight, it was hard to keep it together. "You don't need an excuse, Pigeon. All you have to do is ask."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Oz

  ABBY PASSED OUT BEFORE I DID. HER BREATHING evened out, and her body relaxed against mine. She was warm, and her nose made the slightest, sweetest buzzing noise when she inhaled. Her body in my arms felt way too good. It was something I could get used to far too easily. As scared as that made me, I couldn't move.

  Knowing Abby, she would wake up and remember she was a hard-ass, and yell at me for letting it happen or, worse, resolve to never let it happen again.

  I wasn't stupid enough to hope, or strong enough to stop myself from feeling the way I did. Total eye-opener. Not so tough, after all. Not when it came to Abby.

  My breathing slowed, and my body sank into the mattress, but I fought the fatigue that steadily overtook me. I didn't want to close my eyes and miss even a second of what it felt like to have Abby so close.

  She stirred, and I froze. Her fingers pressed into my skin, and then she hugged herself up against me once before relaxing again. I kissed her hair, and leaned my cheek against her forehead.

  Closing my eyes for just a moment, I took a breath.

  I opened my eyes again, and it was morning. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have.

  Abby was wiggling around, trying to unwedge herself out from under me. My legs were on top of hers, and my arm still held her.

  "Stop it, Pidge. I'm sleepin'," I said, pulling her closer.

  She pulled her limbs out from under me, one at a time, and then sat on the bed and sighed.

  I slid my hand across the bed, reaching the tips of her small, delicate fingers. Her back was to me, and she didn't turn around.

  "What's wrong, Pigeon?"

  "I'm going to get a glass of water. You want anything?"

  I shook my head, and closed my eyes. Either she was going to pretend it didn't happen, or she was pissed. Neither option a good one.

  Abby walked out, and I lay there a while, trying to find the motivation to move. Hangovers sucked, and my head was pounding. I could hear Shepley's muffled, deep voice, so I decided to drag my ass out of bed.

  My bare feet slapped against the wood floor as I trudged into the kitchen. Abby stood in my T-shirt and boxers, pouring chocolate syrup into a steaming bowl of oatmeal.

  "That's sick, Pidge," I grumbled, trying to blink the blur from my eyes.

  "Good morning to you, too."

  "I hear your birthday is coming up. Last stand of your teenage years."

  She made a face, caught off guard. "Yeah . . . I'm not a big birthday person. I think Mare is going to take me to dinner or something." She smiled. "You can come if you want."

  I shrugged, trying to pretend her smile hadn't gotten to me. She wanted me there. "All right. It's a week from Sunday?"

  "Yes. When's your birthday?"

  "Not 'til April. April first," I said, pouring milk on top of my cereal.

  "Shut up."

  I took a bite, amused at her surprise. "No, I'm serious."

  "Your birthday is on April Fools'?"

  I laughed. The look on her face was priceless. "Yes! You're gonna be late. I better get dressed."

  "I'm riding with Mare."

  That small rejection was a lot harder to hear than it should have been. She had been riding to campus with me, and suddenly she was riding with America? It made me wonder if it was because of what had happened the night before. She was probably trying to distance herself from me again, and that was nothing less than disappointing. "Whatever," I said, turning my back to her before she could see the disappointment in my eyes.

  The girls grabbed their backpacks in a hurry. America tore out of the parking lot like they had just robbed a bank.

  Shepley walked out of his bedroom, pulling a T-shirt over his head. His eyebrows pushed together. "Did they just leave?"

  "Yeah," I said absently, rinsing my cereal bowl and dumping Abby's leftover oatmeal in the sink. She'd barely touched it.

  "Well, what the hell? Mare didn't even say goodbye."

  "You knew she was going to class. Quit being a crybaby."

  Shepley pointed to his chest. "I'm the crybaby? Do you remember last night?"

  "Shut up."

  "That's what I thought." He sat on the couch and slipped on his sneakers. "Did you ask Abby about her birthday?"

  "She didn't say much, except that she's not into birthdays."

  "So what are we doing?"

  "Throwing her a party." Shepley nodded, waiting for me to explain. "I thought we'd surprise her. Invite some of our friends over and have America take her out for a while."

  Shepley put on his white ball cap, pulling it down so low over his brows I couldn't see his eyes. "She can manage that. Anything else?"

  "How do you feel about a puppy?"

  Shepley laughed once. "It's not my birthday, bro."

  I walked around the breakfast bar and leaned my hip against the stool. "I know, but she lives in the dorms. She can't have a puppy."

  "Keep it here? Seriously? What are we going to do with a dog?"

  "I found a cairn terrier online. It's perfect."

  "A what?"

  "Pidge is from Kansas. It's the same kind of dog Dorothy had in The Wizard
of Oz."

  Shepley's face was blank. "The Wizard of Oz."

  "What? I liked the scarecrow when I was a little kid, shut the fuck up."

  "It's going to crap everywhere, Travis. It'll bark and whine and . . . I don't know."

  "So does America . . . minus the crapping."

  Shepley wasn't amused.

  "I'll take it out and clean up after it. I'll keep it in my room. You won't even know it's here."

  "You can't keep it from barking."

  "Think about it. You gotta admit it'll win her over."

  Shepley smiled. "Is that what this is all about? You're trying to win over Abby?"

  My brows pulled together. "Quit it."

  His smile widened. "You can get the damn dog . . ."

  I grinned. Yes! Victory!

  ". . . if you admit you have feelings for Abby."

  I frowned. Fuck! Defeat! "C'mon, man!"

  "Admit it," Shepley said, crossing his arms. What a tool. He was actually going to make me say it.

  I looked to the floor and everywhere else except Shepley's smug ass smile. I fought it for a while, but the puppy was fucking brilliant. Abby would flip out (in a good way for once), and I could keep it at the apartment. She'd want to be there every day.

  "I like her," I said through my teeth.

  Shepley held his hand to his ear. "What? I couldn't quite hear you."

  "You're an asshole! Did you hear that?"

  Shepley crossed his arms. "Say it."

  "I like her, okay?"

  "Not good enough."

  "I have feelings for her. I care about her. A lot. I can't stand it when she's not around. Happy?"

  "For now," he said, grabbing his backpack off the floor. He slung one strap over his shoulder, and then picked up his cell phone and keys. "See you at lunch, pussy."

  "Eat shit," I grumbled.

  Shepley was always the idiot in love acting like a fool. He was never going to let me live this down.

  It only took a couple of minutes to get dressed, but all that talking had me running late. I slipped on my leather jacket and put my ball cap on backward. My only class that day was Chem II, so bringing my bag wasn't necessary. Someone in class would let me borrow a pencil if we had a quiz.

  Sunglasses. Keys. Phone. Wallet. I slipped on my boots and slammed the door behind me, trotting down the stairs. Riding the Harley wasn't nearly as appealing without Abby on the back. Dammit, she was ruining everything.

  On campus, I walked a little faster than usual to make it to class on time. With just a second to spare, I slipped into the desk. Dr. Webber rolled her eyes, unimpressed with my timing, and probably a little irritated with my lack of materials. I winked, and the slightest smile touched her lips. She shook her head, and then returned her attention to the papers on her desk.

  A pencil wasn't necessary, and once we were dismissed, I took off toward the cafeteria.

  Shepley was waiting for the girls in the middle of the greens. I grabbed his ball cap, and before he could take it back, I tossed it like a Frisbee across the lawn.

  "Nice, dick," he said, walking the few feet to pick it up.

  "Mad Dog," someone called behind me. I knew from the scruffy, deep voice who it was.

  Adam approached Shepley and me, his expression all business. "I'm trying to set up a fight. Be ready for a phone call."

  "We always are," Shepley said. He was sort of my business manager. He took care of getting the word out, and he made sure I was in the right place at the right time.

  Adam nodded once, and then left for his next destination, whatever that was. I had never been in a class with the guy. I wasn't even sure if he really went to school here. As long as he paid me, I guess I didn't really care.

  Shepley watched Adam walk away, and then cleared his throat. "So did you hear?"

  "What?"

  "They fixed the boilers at Morgan."

  "So?"

  "America and Abby will probably pack up tonight. We're going to be busy helping them move all their shit back to the dorms."

  My face fell. The thought of packing Abby up and taking her back to Morgan felt like a punch in the face. Especially after the night before, she'd probably be happy to leave. She might not even speak to me again. My mind flashed through a million scenarios, but I couldn't think of anything to get her to stay.

  "You okay, man?" Shepley asked.

  The girls appeared, giggly and smiling. I tried a smile, but Abby was too busy being embarrassed by whatever America was laughing about.

  "Hey, baby," America said, kissing Shepley on the mouth.

  "What's so funny?" Shepley asked.

  "Oh, a guy in class was staring at Abby all hour. It was adorable."

  "As long as he was staring at Abby." Shepley winked.

  "Who was it?" I asked before thinking.

  Abby shifted her weight, readjusting her backpack. It was overflowing with books, the zipper barely containing the contents. It must have been heavy. I slipped it off her shoulder.

  "Mare's imagining things," she said, rolling her eyes.

  "Abby! You big fat liar! It was Parker Hayes, and he was being so obvious. The guy was practically drooling."

  My face twisted. "Parker Hayes?"

  Shepley pulled on America's hand. "We're headed to lunch. Will you be enjoying the fine cafeteria cuisine this afternoon?"

  America kissed him again in answer, and Abby followed behind, prompting me to do the same. We walked together in silence. She was going to find out about the boilers, they would move back to Morgan, and Parker would ask her out.

  Parker Hayes was a cream puff, but I could see Abby being interested in him. His parents were stupid rich, he was going to med school, and on the surface he was a nice guy. She was going to end up with him. The rest of her life with him played out in my head, and it was all I could do to calm down. The mental image of tackling my temper and shoving it into a box helped.

  Abby placed her tray between America and Finch. An empty chair a few seats down was a better choice for me than attempting to carry on a conversation like I hadn't just lost her. This was going to suck, and I didn't know what to do. So much time had been wasted playing games. Abby didn't have a chance to even get to know me. Hell, even if she had, she was probably better off with someone like Parker.

  "Are you okay, Trav?" Abby asked.

  "Me? Fine, why?" I asked, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling that settled in every muscle of my face.

  "You've just been quiet."

  Several members of the football team approached the table and sat down, laughing loudly. Just the sounds of their voices made me want to punch a wall.

  Chris Jenks tossed a French fry onto my plate. "What's up, Trav? I heard you bagged Tina Martin. She's been raking your name through the mud today."

  "Shut up, Jenks," I said, keeping my eyes on my food. If I looked up at his ridiculous fucking face, I might have knocked him out of his chair.

  Abby leaned forward. "Knock it off, Chris."

  I looked up at Abby, and for a reason I couldn't explain, became instantly angry. What the fuck was she defending me for? The second she found out about Morgan, she was going to leave me. She'd never talk to me again. Even though it was crazy, I felt betrayed. "I can take care of myself, Abby."

  "I'm sorry, I . . ."

  "I don't want you to be sorry. I don't want you to be anything," I snapped. Her expression was the final straw. Of course she didn't want to be around me. I was an infantile asshole that had the emotional control of a three-year-old. I shoved away from the table and pushed through the door, not stopping until I was sitting on my bike.

  The rubber grips on the handlebars whined under my palms as I twisted my hands back and forth. The engine snarled, and I kicked back the kickstand before taking off like a bat out of hell into the street.

  I rode around for an hour, feeling no better than before. The streets were leading to one place, though, and even though it took me that long to give in and just go, I
finally pulled into my father's driveway.

  Dad walked out of the front door and stood on the porch, giving a short wave.

  I took both of the porch stairs at once and stopped just short of where he stood. He didn't hesitate to pull me against his soft, rounded side, before escorting me inside.

  "I was just thinking it was about time for a visit," he said with a tired smile. His eyelids hung over his lashes a bit, and the skin beneath his eyes was puffy, matching the rest of his round face.

  Dad checked out for a few years after Mom died. Thomas took on a lot more responsibilities than a kid his age should have, but we made do, and finally Dad snapped out of it. He never talked about it, but he never missed a chance to make it up to us.

  Even though he was sad and angry for most of my formative years, I wouldn't consider him a bad father, he was just lost without his wife. I knew how he felt, now. I felt maybe a fraction for Pidge what Dad felt for Mom, and the thought of being without her made me feel sick.

  He sat on the couch and gestured to the worn-out recliner. "Well? Have a seat, would ya?"

  I sat, fidgeting while trying to figure out what I would say.

  He watched me for a while before taking a breath. "Something wrong, son?"

  "There's a girl, Dad."

  He smiled a bit. "A girl."

  "She kinda hates me, and I kinda . . ."

  "Love her?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so. I mean . . . how do you know?"

  His smile grew wider. "When you're talking about her with your old dad because you don't know what else to do."

  I sighed. "I just met her. Well, a month ago. I don't think it's love."

  "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "I'll take your word for it," he said without judgment.

  "I just . . . I don't think I'm good for her."

  Dad leaned forward, then touched a couple of fingers to his lips.

  I continued. "I think she's been burned by someone before. By someone like me."

  "Like you."

  "Yeah." I nodded and sighed. The last thing I wanted was to admit to Dad what I'd been up to.

  The front door slammed against the wall. "Look who decided to come home," Trenton said with a wide grin. He hugged two brown paper sacks to his chest.

  "Hey, Trent," I said, standing. I followed him into the kitchen and helped him put Dad's groceries away.

  We took turns elbowing and shoving each other. Trenton had always been the hardest on me as far as kicking my ass when we disagreed, but I was also closer to him than I was to my other brothers.

  "Missed you at the Red the other night. Cami says hi."