Wrong Side of Heaven

by Riley, Gia

  Twenty-One

  Winnie

  The door flies open, and Trey pulls away from me so fast, he takes a few strands of my hair with him.

  “Sorry,” he whispers as he looks back and forth between me and the guy standing in his living room.

  “What the fuck?” the man says. “You were due at headquarters an hour ago.”

  My mouth’s still hanging open from having Trey’s tongue inside it, and there’s probably a little bit of spit dribbling from the corner. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow, let alone bring my lips together.

  I just made out with Trey. My dad’s best friend. My best friend. My family.

  I picture Dad rolling over in his grave and then peering between the clouds, screaming obscenities at his friend. But Trey touching me doesn’t seem wrong. It didn’t feel wrong either. Yet I know my father wouldn’t have just been angry about what just happened; he’d be murderous.

  Trey’s a total badass, and there aren’t many people who would dare mess with him, but my dad wouldn’t have cared about the gun he carried or how many faces he’d bashed into with his knuckles. He’d only care that his little girl was getting mixed up with a man who was too old for her and full of too much danger to ever be considered safe.

  I’ve gotten the speeches—the sex talks about making good choices with my body. Dad never told me not to kiss boys or have sex, but he didn’t have to. I knew I had come from two parents who were too young to raise a kid on their own. They had done it anyway, and look how that turned out. A mother who ran and a father who did his best and still failed.

  “Don’t settle, Winnie,” he always said. “Live your life as independently as possible. You don’t need a man to decide your worth.”

  I wish that were true. My dad lived with so much regret, there were days I was sure he regretted me, too. Days when I cost him too much money for things like clothes and food and school projects that would end up tossed in the trash after they were graded. He hid his heartbreak almost as well as he hid how scared he was.

  But Trey isn’t someone I need to be warned about. I understand some of the risks. I see the danger, and I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I’ve loved him in one way, shape, or form my entire life. And, right now, I can hardly believe his lips were just touching mine.

  Trey must be feeling something similar because he’s looking at me like I might vanish into a cloud of dust at any second.

  It’s me. I’m right here. I’ve always been right here, Trey.

  As he stares at me, I wonder if he’s picturing the little girl he used to play Barbies with or the grown woman he carried out of the bathroom no more than a half hour ago. I imagine his thoughts are somewhere in between. Like six months ago, when he came to the apartment and helped me with my homework because I suck at math, and he’s a number guy. I thought about kissing him that day, too, but I never had the courage. Not even when he leaned across the table and was inches away, carefully explaining the answer to the problem.

  Last week, he gave me some cash and promised to keep me safe, and his words were enough. I didn’t need to hold his hand like I hold Jasper’s, and I didn’t need any affection. Trey’s eyes said everything I needed to know. Just seeing him rattled my bones.

  The rattling had nothing to do with actual dollar signs or Trey’s protectiveness. I had a man showing up for me, making my life his priority. There’s nothing sexier than that—or so I thought. Now that we’ve shared a kiss, I realize how much I want Trey. The way he held on to the back of my neck and pressed his tongue against mine, I’m positive he wants me, too.

  Trey blinks a couple of times and then shakes his head. He turns back to his friend. “Shit,” he says. “I lost track of time. There was an emergency I had to handle.”

  The emergency was me, but he doesn’t say my name out loud. Why would he? I’m jailbait, and the less he says to his friend, the better. Until I turn eighteen, all I’ll ever be is a shameful secret. If we got caught kissing again, I’d be responsible for ruining his life.

  “Your emergency is cute,” he says. “If you’re cool with it, I’ll take a spin next.”

  Cheap. That’s the only way to describe how insignificant Trey’s friend makes me feel. But I’m sitting here with ratty hair, half-dressed, and I probably look like the garbage they find on street corners this late at night. He probably thinks Trey took home one of the clients who couldn’t pay her debt. If he were Trey’s real friend, he’d know Trey didn’t operate like that. If there’s no money to collect, he takes possessions, not bodies.

  Still looking at me, Trey says, “I’m not even slightly cool with that, Hal.”

  He makes a fist until his veins are about to explode. I’m not the one being scolded, not yet anyway, but I’m so scared. Trey must be able to see the change in my eyes because his soften, and I foolishly think we’re going to be okay.

  Trey stands up and looks at Hal, his eyes burning with rage. Through gritted teeth, Trey stays stock-still and says, “I suggest you get the hell out of here before I rearrange your face and screw up that new set of teeth. And, if you speak one word of this to anyone else, I’ll make sure you don’t wake up tomorrow morning.”

  Trey means it. The threat is real, and the thought of him killing another human being makes my teeth chatter and my throat burn. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

  This is the closest I’ve been to Trey’s work. I’ve never met another employee or any of his clients. He quietly drifts to and from work, a dangerous legend who’s respected yet feared. And never seen doing anything illegal or wrong.

  I’m wrong.

  I’m illegal.

  And I’m no better than the job I wish he would leave. Both could destroy him.

  Why did I kiss him?

  I think I’m going to get sick, but when I try to stand up, Trey mouths, Sit, and I stop moving.

  He grabs the blanket draped over the back of the couch and wraps it around me. Once I’m covered, he takes my hand and helps me onto my feet.

  His pupils are so round and black, they’re eating up the blue diamonds around them. My fingers brush over the little vein thumping in his wrist, and I stare at our hands. We’ve held hands before. He walked me across busy streets and even into school when I was younger. He helped me down off a rock when I insisted on climbing all the way to the top of the trail, even after he told me not to. And then there was that time at the park when I got stuck on top of the monkey bars. As busy as Trey is, he’s always taken my hand and led me away from trouble. He’s protected me when I was too careless to look out for myself.

  But where are the guys who look out for Trey? There’s nobody here to protect him from me.

  “Come on, man,” Hal says. “Just one kiss.”

  Trey’s chest heaves. “Go in the bedroom, Winn. This’ll just take a minute,” he tells me.

  He hasn’t reached for his gun, and I pray he doesn’t. I want to tell Trey to calm down, but I can’t get any words to come out of my mouth. If his body language is any indication of what’s to come, Hal’s not going to make it out of here alive. He’ll lose his life because I kissed Trey and made him late for work.

  I’ve never been allowed in Trey’s bedroom, but those large pupils of his practically push me down the hallway until I’m stumbling over my own two feet. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s in Hal’s face, delivering one hell of a message. I’m glad I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  Trey’s bedroom has a double bed and a dresser. It’s as plainly decorated as my own room, and none of Trey’s personality is splashed anywhere across the walls. Most people don’t know this about him, but he likes sports. He’s a huge Yankees fan and an amazing basketball player. I’ve heard all the stories about the trophies he won and how he had scouts looking at him. I’m sure he got some offers, but Trey never went to college. As smart as he is, he stayed home and ended up on the streets. Dad never told me why.

  Maybe it was always about the money. He makes m
ore in a week than he’d probably make in a year with a college degree. Granted, he doesn’t get to keep it all, but there’s enough that he can afford to keep his place in the city and bounce around old trailers.

  His living arrangements in Carillon are laughable. He could have top-of-the-line, expensive furniture and a trailer encrusted in gold. A trailer full of luxury would give him away though. Rich people don’t live here. In fact, anyone who has any decent amount of cash in their wallet won’t be found here. Bank accounts rarely exist because there’s never any money left over to save. Everyone here lives paycheck to paycheck.

  While Trey’s playing the part of poor trailer trash, I’m living the real thing across the street. I don’t pretend to have nothing. Being penniless isn’t a game to me; it’s my reality.

  I should be happy I’m someplace safe, but for some reason, this trailer makes us do stupid things. Trey living here has done nothing to keep me safe. He thought he was fixing my problems, and all I’ve done is fall deeper into the shadows. I’m worse off now than when he was away, and I might have just messed up everything we had because I kissed him.

  Trey’s always been the one I run to, and now, I’m on the verge of running away from him. He warned me his life was too dangerous and too complicated, and I never believed him. After seeing him with Hal, I believe it. And, after kissing him, he might cut me out of his life completely. What will I do then? I’ll really be on my own.

  He kissed you back, Winnie.

  I slide the bedroom window open, swing my legs over the sill, and hop down into the grass, landing on legs that are so shaky, I’m shocked I didn’t twist my ankle.

  I still need to wash the dried blood off my skin and find something to keep the cuts clean and dry. The Band-Aid box has been empty for weeks, and I don’t know when I’ll have the money to buy some new ones. I’ll have to tear up an old T-shirt and use that instead.

  But one step toward my trailer, and I stop moving.

  Jax is sitting on the top step, probably waiting for Tess to come home. If she were already there, they’d be inside, getting high and having sex.

  There’s no way I’m going home tonight. Not with Jax in the house and especially not after the nightmare.

  Before he spots me, I duck behind Trey’s trailer, trying my best to remember where the hidden path starts. I remember walking with Jasper past at least two trailers and then slipping between a separation in the bushes.

  Once I find the opening, which is thicker than it seemed two days ago, I unwrap the blanket from my body and drape it over my head, thankful that I made it down the ladder with it still on me. The overgrown branches hit me in the face, but I can’t feel it, and at least with the fabric protecting my skin, I don’t have to worry about getting any more dirt into the cuts.

  Without shoes, my toes squish into some mud, and I’m positive I’m probably stepping on all kinds of bugs. I just pray I don’t walk through any poison; the rest, I can deal with.

  Ten minutes later, I’m at the opening in the fence, pushing two loose boards apart and sliding through the hole. Jasper’s house is dark, and he might not even be home. He could be with his brother or back at The Whip, working a late-night shift to cover some of the money he missed out on earning because of me.

  It’s too late to ring the doorbell or knock on the door, so I take the covering off my head and fold the blanket in half to shorten the length. Once it’s around me like a strapless plaid dress, I tuck the end in near my armpit.

  The ladder leaning against Jasper’s house is tied to two stakes in the ground. There’s no way to tell if it’ll shift or fall over with my body weight on it, but I don’t have any other option to get to Jasper’s room. If I want to get off the street and find some dry clothes, I have to take a chance and climb.

  He’d freak if he knew I was down here, too afraid to use the front door. My whole body is trembling now, and I tell myself that Jasper wouldn’t have the ladder here if it wasn’t safe. If he uses it, so can I.

  After I wash my dirty feet off in a puddle, I rub them across the grass to get rid of some of the wetness. When I feel like I’m dry enough to try to climb, I step on the first rung and hold on to the third with my hands.

  The blanket’s weighing me down, but I manage to climb halfway up without snagging the flannel on the shutters or the metal ladder. It’s a long way to the top, but I’ve made it through worse. Inch by painfully slow inch, I hoist myself onto the rooftop and shuffle as quietly as possible toward his window. With my hands shielding the reflection from the streetlight, I press my face against the windowpane. It’s too dark inside to see the bed from here, so I place my palms flat on the glass and push up.

  The window opens with some resistance, and once it’s up far enough to slip my fingers underneath, I manage to climb inside.

  “Jasper,” I whisper. “Are you awake?”

  The air-conditioning’s on full blast, and my hair’s still damp and I get goose bumps all over my body. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed Jasper until I stare at his empty bed.

  The last time I was in it, I remember how comforting his detergent was. There’s never enough money for anything but cheap soap, and washing my bedding is something I don’t get to do nearly enough. Not unless I want to pay for the entire water bill myself. Tess might be high most of the time, but she keeps track of everything.

  Jasper’s bed is so neatly made, I’m sure his mom is responsible. She even left his ratty old teddy bear in the center, right where he’ll see it when he comes home.

  Jasper as a little boy with his toys makes me smile. We were once little kids, playing make-believe in a world we thought we understood. And, now, look at us. He’s working in a bar to help his family, and I’m his summer project—the mystery girl from school nobody can figure out. She is too withdrawn, too strange for anyone to waste their time on. Except for Jasper. He seems to care for reasons I’ll never understand.

  I should climb back down to the ground and go back home, but maybe, if I wait long enough, Jasper will come home, and he won’t mind me being here. At least, I don’t think he’d want me to leave.

  He pulled out clothing from the top drawer last time I was here, but I don’t want to take his things without asking. His clothes smell just as good as his bed.

  With the blanket from Trey’s house, I wipe all the dirt off my feet, and then I squish my toes deep into the carpet fibers, remembering what real carpet feels like. Not the matted-down area that smells like smoke and covers part of our living room floor.

  I don’t want to get his bed dirty, so I lie down on the floor next to the bed and watch for the door or the window to open. He’ll probably use the door, but for some reason, I imagine him coming in the same way I did. Why else would his window have been unlocked when there’s an alarm on the front door?

  The later it gets, I worry that he’s not coming home. What if he’s at Ace’s trailer crashing there for the night? I can’t be here in the morning with his mom right down the hall. She might come inside to check on him and find me instead of her son.

  Come home, Jasper. Please.

  Even if I can’t tell Jasper about the kiss, I need someone to talk to. Jasper listens to me, and being with him takes some of the weight off my shoulders. He makes it easier for me to close my eyes and take a break from the world.

  Twenty-Two

  Jasper

  The bathroom mirror is so thick with fog, I can barely make out my face. If I could see inside my own head, I imagine that’s what it’d look like—a ton of confusion and a lot of worry. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about Winnie. She never did say why she’d picked the tube slide of all places to take a nap. It kills me that she didn’t come here and that I had to leave her in that shitty trailer. That place isn’t home. It never will be. Not as long as Tess is controlling her life while not caring about her own.

  “Screw this,” I mumble and then spit into the sink. I rinse the toothpaste off my brush and shove it ba
ck in the cup on the counter.

  I’m not going to bed tonight. There’s no way I can fall asleep when she’s probably wide awake and scared, waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

  My pajama bottoms have only been on for a couple of minutes, but I strip them off and kick them toward the closet in the hallway. I grab my jeans out of the clean wash basket that never made it into my room and start looking for my keys. Last I remember, they were on my desk.

  The door to my bedroom is half-open, and when I push it open, I stop moving. We don’t have a cat or a dog, and I blink a couple of times until my eyes adjust to the darkness. When they do, I figure out the lump on the floor is a person. Passed out on the floor with her legs curled into her chest and her hands clasped under her chin, Winnie looks like she’s freezing. She’s barely dressed, and what little she does have on is dirty. Her usually smooth and soft hair is full of knots and tangles. The blanket next to her has leaves stuck to it, and from the looks of it, there are maybe even some bugs.

  My instinct is to wake her up and ask her a million questions, like what happened and how the hell she got in my bedroom without me knowing. I wasn’t in the shower that long.

  It doesn’t really matter though. All I care about is that she finally came to me. Maybe Winnie trusts me more than I thought she did.

  As carefully as I can, I lean over her and pull the blanket and sheet back on the bed, wishing my mom had chosen any day but today to make the bed. Winnie makes a little purring sound when I slide my arms underneath her legs and back and pick her up. She curls against my chest, and I debate on standing here all night long, holding her, instead of laying her down.

  With her cradled in my arms, I’m reminded of how tiny she is and how little she weighs. I’m scared she hasn’t eaten anything tonight and that she passed out again, so I lay her in the bed and push the hair out of her eyes. Then, I slide my jeans off and climb into the bed next to her, wearing only my boxers. My body weight makes the bed dip, and she rolls toward me. Her leg’s in a weird spot, so I pick it up and hook it over my thigh. I’m rubbing little circles over her skin when her eyelashes flutter. They open wide enough that I stop moving my hand and wait for her to smack me. But she lifts her head and looks around like she forgot where she lay down.