“Get the fuck off me.” A growl rumbles in my chest, my hand heavy on her shoulder as I push her away.
“No, you don’t mean that. We are about to have fun, baby, you really should stay.” Tara tries again to tug on my jeans, Jessica suddenly standing in front of the door, blocking my exit.
“Get out of my fucking way, you stupid whore,” I demand, my tone low and menacing. I storm towards the door, effortlessly moving Jess out of the way. I have to get out of here. I’m on a major comedown and I know that being alone is the only way I can get through this.
My feet thud against each step as I make my way down the stairs. The repetitive bang of the music makes me contort my face. When I finally make it outside, I stop for a second, my hands resting on my bended knee as I try to breathe. I try to focus on something, anything, as my eyes glance down at the ground. But I can’t. I can’t focus and everything is a blur.
“Hey, man, what’s wrong?” I hear the familiar voice and a firm hand resting on my back.
“I gotta get out of here,” I return to standing, looking at him over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Brax? Talk to me.” Carter takes my arm, leading me away from the entrance.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to be here anymore.” I dig in my pocket, searching for my keys.
“You can’t drive, man, you’ve had way too much to drink.”
“It’s never fucking stopped me before,” I retort, yanking the keys out of my pocket and walking over to my bike.
“You’re gonna get yourself fucking killed.” He yells after me, and I can’t help but stop dead in my tracks.
“You know what, Carter? Maybe I will and maybe that is exactly what should have happened years ago when everything fucking crumbled around me. Maybe that fucker should have killed me instead of Trav. It should have been me.”
“There’s a fucking reason it wasn’t you.”
“What?” I scream, “What could that fucking be?”
“You were meant for bigger and better things. Look at us, Brax,” he pulls on my arm, spinning me until I’m facing him. “Look at who we are, at what we have achieved.”
I laugh a little. Then some more until I’m practically hysterical.
“What? What the fuck is so funny?” he roars, the veins in his neck straining as his temper flares.
“Look at us,” I hold out my arms, scanning the area around us. “We are fucking criminals. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The connection of his fist to my chin knocks me flying to the floor. His foot lands heavily on my neck, his black boots pressing so hard I can feel myself struggle as I try to breathe. “I’m Carter fucking Mellano and don’t you ever forget it.” His tone lets me know his warning is real and as I grapple with his foot, I manage to roll, breaking free from his hold. I snap my head in his direction only to be met with the end of his pistol.
“I’ve been good to you, Brax. Real fucking good,” he drawls, “but don’t ever mock my business, my life or who I fucking am.”
The gun in his hand shakes a little and I slowly push myself up from the floor, brushing down the front of my jeans.
“I’m being serious, cocksucker,” he seethes, annoyed by my lack of reaction. Carter is a hot head, but he would never shoot me. Not over something like this. He’s just trying to remind me who is in charge. “You may just think I’m a criminal, but I’m a fucking good one, and this life makes me more money than most millionaire businessmen,” he continues as I stand before him crossing my arms. I hold them there tightly, lifting and dropping my shoulders.
“What?” he roars. “What has gotten into you?”
“Listen,” I reply in a calm voice, stepping forward until the gun is practically touching my forehead. “If you want to shoot me, if you really want to bury that goddamn bullet in my brain, then just do it.”
He jolts the gun forward causing me to stumble back.
“Do it. Put me out of my misery. Maybe you shouldn’t have saved me that day…”
“Why the fuck would you say that?” He glares at me, like I’ve just punched him in the gut.
“Because every day is torture. Torture of the worst kind. Everything that meant something is lost and I’m stumbling from one day to the fucking next, with no reason for fucking living. So yeah, do me a favor…”
“Oh well, you are really feeling fucking sorry for yourself, aren’t you? Do you know what a fucking pussy you sound like? Time to man up, Brax. Man up and get your fucking shit together. I’m done fucking babysitting you.”
“Fuck you,” I spit back, stepping away and mounting my motorcycle. I push the key in the ignition, starting the engine and revving it aggressively. My tires screech making friction against the driveway. I drive fast. Way too fast.
It doesn’t take long before I’m home. Not the home where I live, but the home where my heart belongs. I kick out the stand and jump down from the bike. Slowly, I make my way through the overgrown grass; the smell of summer fills my nostrils. I stare down at my feet; an eerie silence fills the air.
I’ve walked this way a million times. I even know how many steps it takes from the road until I get to the tree.
Our tree.
Sixty-six steps is all it takes.
As soon as I reach the oak tree, I collapse onto my knees. The pain rips through me like a motherfucking tornado. You know that old saying, ‘time is a healer’? Well, it’s complete bullshit. No amount of time has helped heal the wounds left by the two people in my life that actually meant something to me. No amount of time can erase the memories of what happened to Travis that day.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, placing my hand against the trunk of the tree. I graze my hand over the numerous carvings; the ones all three of us made over the years we spent together. I drop my head forward, resting it against the tree. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them, Trav. I’m sorry that my stupid fucking idea got you killed.” I fight back the anger, allowing a small tear to trickle down my scarred cheek.
The scar that reminds me every day of what I’ve lost. A scar that I got the day I lost both of my best friends.
* * *
Jolting upright, I open my eyes, frantically scanning my surroundings. My hand automatically reaches for the band of my jeans, resting on the handle of my gun.
“Brax, it’s me,” she holds up her hands in the air in a mock surrender, taking a wary step backward.
“Lynette,” I gasp, rubbing my eyes as I try to rush to my feet. The daylight has faded, but there is just enough light for me to make out her face.
“I saw your bike on the road and guessed you’d be here. Why don’t you come with me? I can make you a bite to eat. You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
“I never knew you cared so much.” My reply has a nasty bite and I push myself up from the ground, brushing off the loose bits of grass and walking straight past the one woman who should have fought for the girl I love. The one woman who let her own daughter down. I could never forgive her for that. I can’t just forget that she didn’t fight to find her.
“Braxton, wait,” she yells after me and my feet stop moving, grounding me to a halt. I don’t look at her though. I focus on the ground, avoiding the eyes of the one woman who could have changed this.
“I miss her just as much as you do. I spend hours out here looking at this stupid tree and the carvings you guys did, and every time I see them it breaks my heart.” I can hear her heavy breaths and I lift my head to meet her eyes.
“Don’t play the fucking sympathy card with me. If it was up to me, I would have buried a fucking bullet deep in that heart of stone years ago.”
“Why?” She snivels. “I lost my only daughter… this isn’t my fault. You can’t blame me for her leaving to live with her father.”
“You still fucking believe that bullshit story?” I seethe. “We both know that’s not what happened, and we both know you did absolutely nothing to find her.”
“She is with her father,” she
screams, saliva flying from her mouth.
“Where, Lynette? Where exactly is that?” I ask, tilting my head and crossing my arms.
“I, uh, I don’t know,” she stutters nervously.
“So,” I narrow my brows as I glare at her with every ounce of anger I feel bubbling at the surface. “She is with her father, but you, mother of the century, have no idea where that is?”
“Don’t you dare,” she replies, her voice wavering and her shaky index finger pointing at me. “I never said I was the greatest mom, but it’s the truth when I say I miss my daughter.”
“Do you know what?” I scoff, “I really don’t give a fucking shit about your motherfucking excuses.”
Turning on the spot, I start making my way across the field, my feet pounding against the ground as I try to release the rage I feel in the pit of my stomach.
“Did she write to you?” she yells after me, the sound of her footsteps increase behind me. I take a huge breath, and whip my head around to face her.
“What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I say,” she replies, a small grin twitching at the corner of her mouth. I study her expression for a second, realizing that the bitch is getting some sort of sick kick out of this.
“You better start talking, Lynette. I’m not fucking joking,” I race toward her and she cowers, holding her arms as she tries to shelter her face. I grab each of her wrists, revealing the face she’s trying to hide.
“Fucking tell me,” I scream in her face.
“She, uh, she sent me birthday cards and Christmas cards. Every year without fail,” her voice almost trails off, her face is contorted as she fearfully waits for my reaction.
“What?” I try to speak but the word comes out as a whisper. “You mean she’s been in touch? She actually wrote to you?” My words roll out incredulously as I try to come to grips with the meaning of what her mother just told me. “This means she’s alive,” I almost gasp, as thoughts race through my mind. Is she telling the truth? And if she is, are the cards really from Izzy?
“Show me,” I demand. “I won’t believe this is true until I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.” I nod in the direction of her house and race to get on my bike.
“You go, I’ll wait for you at the house,” I say as I start the engine before revving it noisily. She covers her ears with her hands, racing through the field taking the shortcut to her house. I ride the short distance to the house, parking on the gravel drive out front. I look around at the overgrown grass and weeds that now make this once beautiful house look dilapidated. The whitewash front has weathered and I shake my head as I dismount the parked bike and head to the front veranda. I sit on the steps, staring into the distance as I wait for Lynette to turn up. I tap my leg nervously, a mix of emotions race through me, causing my heart to pound like mad. If what she says is right, and she has in fact received cards from her, then why the hell did she never send me anything? But on the flip side, if she has really sent them, that means she’s alive.
Alive, but moved on.
Without a thought for me.
What if I didn’t mean anything to her after all?
The pounding of my heart becomes deafening. It sounds like a thousand horses galloping and I don’t know how to fucking calm it. I feel the sudden buzz of my cell phone against my leg. I rush to pull the phone from my pocket. I see Carter’s name on the screen.
“What’s up?” I mumble down the receiver.
“Have you checked your calls recently?” he snaps and I move the phone from my ear and see a ton of missed calls and messages.
“Uh, yeah, I see them now. What’s up?”
“Where the fuck have you been, Brax?” His voice is filled with annoyance and I let out a heavy breath.
“I fell asleep. Under the tree. Lynette woke me. She has a little revelation and I’m just waiting for her to come good,” I inform him.
“Well, right now, you’re gonna want to hear what I got to tell you,” he says and by the sound of his voice I can tell he’s smiling down the phone.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you like this, but come back to the house and I’ll fill you in.”
“Is this just a ploy to get me back to the party? Just how fucking wasted are you?” I grumble.
“I’m deadly fucking serious man. I need you back here and fucking fast. It has something to do with Isabelle, that’s all I’m saying for now…”
“Isabelle…” I let my words trail off, my ears ring with the sound of the dead tone. “Fuck,” I growl, shoving my phone back in my pocket and taking out a cigarette. I light it for the desperate hit of nicotine. The pain and confusion is brewing and festering deep within the depths of my dark soul. I need an outlet for my pain and confusion. I need to fucking do something. I rest my head back, taking another huge drag of the cigarette. I feel the heat as I draw the smoke into my lungs and the haze as the nicotine provides a much-needed hit.
A few short seconds later, Lynette appears in front of me, holding her key in her hand. “Come in,” she says with a nod of her head.
“I’ll stay here, if it’s okay with you.”
She loosely shrugs her shoulder, opening the door and flicking on the light. I turn, watching her walk off into the house, only to reappear a few moments later. She holds a tin in her arms like she’s holding a baby.
“Here. Take a look,” she says handing the tin to me. I slowly take it from her, my hands shaking as I remove the lid and set it down beside me. True to her word, the tin is full of cards. I take out the top one, a shudder racking through me as I rub my thumb across the front of the embossed card. I open the card, the words, “Happy birthday Mom” are on the front.
My eyes slowly read the handwritten words. I focus on them, and my heart rate tells me this is her handwriting. This is from Izzy.
“I’d recognize that writing anywhere,” I murmur, placing it back in the tin and picking out another. I look at them all. Each one has the same writing and says the exact same thing.
To, Mom,
Love, Isabelle.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Is this it?” I ask as I look between Lynette, who is standing resting against the wall, and the cards in my hand.
She shakes her head from side to side. “I don’t follow.”
“These,” I shout a little more than intended. “Is this all there is? No letters or anything.”
“No, nothing,” she replies warily.
“They all say the same thing. No messages, no information about how she is or what she’s been doing.” I start to pace back and forth, scraping my hand through my hair.
“They are cards, Brax, just cards.” She reaches her arms out, snatching the tin from my grasp.
“You didn’t think it was strange that she wrote the exact same thing in every single card?” I glare at her, a look of confusion etched across her face. “You didn’t expect a little more?”
“Well, uh, kind of,” she mumbles. “I guess I was just so happy to get something from her that the message inside didn’t really matter that much to me.”
“Didn’t really matter that much?” I repeat, glaring at her intensely.
“Well, no,” she says nonchalantly, her shoulders rise and fall lightly.
“You are un-fucking-believable, do you know that?”
“What, Braxton? What was it you expected? Some note telling me how much she loved the biggest loser in town? Huh?”
“Screw you, bitch,” I spit venomously. “Maybe if you actually cared a little more about your daughter, rather than drinking yourself into oblivion, none of this would have happened. But, no! You were too busy being drunk and getting screwed by the next guy you could find to even give a shit about her.”
“Don’t you dare…” she warns, but I quickly turn my back on her and skip down the stairs.
“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” I grumble, throwing my leg over my bike and starting the engine. Something tel
ls me I have more important shit to deal with right now.
I push past the security standing at the main door to the house. They don’t say a fucking word; just give me a solid nod as I walk through. The music is so loud the beat reverberates through my body as I push through the crowds of people to get to his office.
Pushing down the handle I storm inside his office. His feet are resting on the desk and he jumps up as soon as he sees me.
“Finally. What the fuck took you so long?”
“That crazy bitch, Lynette,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“We should’ve finished her when we had the chance,” he chimes in, holding out his arms to embrace me. I reciprocate warily, patting him heavily on the back. “Glad you came back, man.”
I’m still pissed at him about earlier, but anything to do with Isabelle and he’s got me. And I’m sure he’s all too aware of that.
“So, what’s the news?” I pull away from him, digging into my pocket for a cigarette. I grab the lighter sitting on Carter’s desk, light up and throw it back down.
“You’re gonna want to fucking sit down for this,” he says, with a big fat fucking smirk on his face. I draw my eyebrows together, my eyes focused on him.
I tighten my jaw, clenching my teeth together, my eyes glaring at him as I await some fucking answers. “Spit it out for fuck’s sake.”
“So, I called to put a little pressure on that useless investigator of yours, only to find out he has some very interesting information on Isabelle.”
My adrenaline spikes, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the growing haze across my eyes. “What about her?” I choke out.
“They found her dad dead a few days ago. An anonymous call was made to the police and his body was recovered out in the middle of Brierly woods. He was found in a small wooden cabin, and by all accounts, she was there with him…”
“So, where the fuck is she?” I cut in. “Why hasn’t she come home?” I take a huge drag of the cigarette, pushing my free hand deep inside my pocket as I start to pace back and forth the office.
The complete scars series: Books one-four Page 5
