For everything.
How can this be happening?
How can Ryder be dead when I just saw her a few weeks ago?
How? Why? How?
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” she sobs hysterically, trying to push away from me but I pull her closer, not sure what else to do. “I want it to be you!”
It feels like a slap across the face.
A fucking knife in my heart.
I’m bleeding out.
No, I’m not.
I tell myself that I heard her wrong. That I was really hallucinating the entire time like I originally thought. That she’s not here crying in my arms and Ryder isn’t gone. That this is all a goddamn nightmare.
But it’s not.
I know it’s not.
I’m not sure what to do or say, whether to pull away from her or continue to console her when she’s pushing me away. I’m still deciding when my father appears in the hallway behind her, his eyes filled with tears too. And there’s a look of remorse on his face directed at me.
“I’m so sorry,” he utters while he reaches for my mother.
Sorry for what?
For losing my sister?
For my mother wishing it was me that died?
What is it, Dad?
Please tell me.
Help me figure out what I’ve done wrong.
The only answer I get is his silence, leaving me with my own interpretation.
To all of this.
“Yeah, me too,” I choke back at him as he helps my mother to her feet. She doesn’t push him away, instead falling into his embrace. My father gives me one last apologetic look before guiding my mother down the hallway, leaving me alone in my room.
And for the briefest moment, I wish I was the one dead too.
Present Day…
Chapter 8
It’s just a little wound. Nothing a scar won’t fix.
Tristan
So much for avoiding Avery. I didn’t mean to run into her the first morning on the job. I’m not even sure what it is about her that makes me do nice guy stuff. I’m not a nice guy, haven’t been for a while. If Avery knew half the shit I’ve done, she wouldn’t be calling me cute and smiling at me. She’d be running the other way, just like she did when she got that phone call earlier.
After our encounter the first day, I warn myself to stay away and the following morning I even try to run the urge to get to know her out of me. But Avery appeared so distraught when she left that afternoon that I wonder if it has something to do with Conner. That thought weighed heavily on my mind, more so than drugs and I decide that the next morning that I’ll talk to Avery, because I need to know if she’s okay—have needed to know for three months now.
But when I arrive at the worksite, my nerves reveal that there might be more to it than just checking up on her. Because I’m so damn nervous that it’s starting to show to outside observers.
“Why do you look so squiggly?” Nova studies me as she picks up a bag of nails from off the ground near the front section of the house where construction has started.
Music is playing from the stereo of a truck, and the sounds of drills and saws fill the air. It’s ridiculously hot and the sun is relentlessly beaming down on us. I’m so hot I’m sweating even with my shirt off and just a pair of cargo shorts and boots on.
“Is it because of the job thing I was talking about this morning?” Nova asks. “Because if it is, I didn’t mean anything bad by it, Tristan. I just think it’d be good if we all had jobs.”
She’s right. We all should have jobs. But I’m qualified for nothing except dealing drugs, which makes getting hired a problem. She, on the other hand, walked straight into a camera store and was hired for an evening shift. On top of that, she has a tiny bit of funding for the documentary she’s making about her journey of helping people out. Then Wilson, the foreman and mentor to Quinton, helped Quinton find a job working in construction during evening hours.
“No, that’s not what’s bothering me. I’ll find a job like I said I would.” I search the dirt for a bag of nails that I left around here yesterday. “And what kind of word is squiggly anyway?”
“The kind of word to describe someone who seems nervous and fidgety,” Nova explains, putting the nails into a pouch on her tool belt.
“I’m not nervous.” I find the bag of nails near the corner of the foundation. “Just looking for these.” I feign a smile as I reach into the bag, scoop out a handful of nails and then dump them into a pocket on my tool belt. “You know, we should really start driving your car here with how hot it is,” I say in an attempt to divert the subject.
“You know, I can tell when you’re trying to change the subject, right?” She narrows her eyes at me as she puts her hands on her hips. “And when you’re lying. But the question is why?”
“I’m not avoiding or lying. Nor am I squiggly, fidgeting, or nervous.” I undo the buckle of my tool belt and loosen it a smidgeon.
“You do seem a little out of it,” Quinton agrees as he strolls up to us with a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. “You barely talked at all on our way here.”
“You barely ever talk,” I argue defensively. “And neither do I.” I nod my head toward Nova. “This one here on the other hand…”
Nova’s lips part in shock, then she swats my shoulder, eliciting a laugh from Quinton and me. “I’m not that chatty. It just seems that way because you two can barely carry on a two second conversation.”
“The quiet can be peaceful sometimes,” I tell her, and Quinton nods in agreement as he swallows a sip of his coffee.
“Whatever.” Nova starts to walk off to where Wilson is gathering the workers, but Quinton snags her elbow with his free hand and lures her back to him.
“You know I love it when you talk,” he says softly in her ear, pulling her closer until her back’s pressed against him. “Love the sound of your voice, love the…”
I leave before I can hear the rest. I’ve always heard that people get less sappy and lovey-dovey the longer they’ve been together, but Nova and Quinton seem to be getting worse with each passing day and I’m beginning to get really sick of it. Or jealous. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
I check in with Wilson before I begin cutting boards with the table saw like I was instructed to do. My attention is half there though. The other half is on the driveway, waiting for Avery’s Jeep to pull up. Usually when I spend more than five minutes thinking about a woman, it’s to fuck her. The only exception to this is Nova, and I never did sleep with her.
But now Avery has taken that place.
Part of me wants to sleep with Avery and see if it’ll clear my head, but then again I already know her better than any other woman I’ve hooked up with, so I’m unsure how well that would work. Besides she seems very adamant about her no guy rule, so getting her to break it for me is probably impossible. And I’m not even sure if I want her to break it. Avery isn’t like the usual type of woman I sleep with. She’s not a druggie or a whore. She’s not looking to get a fix. Not looking to kill time. Not looking for anything really, at least in the guy department. It was kind of the same way with Nova and fuck, maybe that’s why I developed a thing for them both. Maybe I want more. But, like things proved with Nova, wanting more doesn’t mean I’ll necessarily get it.
It’s not until I spot Avery’s Jeep pulling up that I realize just how big of a problem having her around is going to be. Because I get excited when I see her car and the feeling heightens when she gets out it. I can’t take my eyes off her as she closes the door and glances around the property as if searching for something. I’m kind of hidden out of her sight, but I can see her perfectly and get a full view of the cut-off shorts she’s wearing along with a tank top that’s just low enough in the back that I can see part of that damn tattoo I desperately want to see.
God, what I’d give to understand the meaning behind it.
“Dude, you’re bleeding all over the boards.” Quinton’s voice yanks me
from my obsessive thoughts of Avery.
He’s standing on the other side of the table saw, staring down at my hand. I track his gaze and see blood covering the entire side of my hand and dribbling onto the board I’m holding.
“Fuck.” I drop the board and rotate my hand over, examining the deep gash. “I don’t even know how the fuck that happened.”
“I think you scraped it on a nail,” Quinton says, rounding the table saw.
I wipe my hand on the side of my cargo shorts then wince from the sting. “Yeah, but I didn’t even feel it.”
“That’s because you were too busy staring.” His implying gaze travels toward the driveway to Avery’s Jeep.
“No, I wasn’t,” I lie as I stare at the blood bubbling from the cut on the side of my hand.
Quinton elevates his brows as he picks up a board. “Whatever you say.”
Between him and Nova always accusing me of having feelings for Avery, I’m starting to lose my cool.
“And I said I wasn’t staring at anyone or anything.” I turn away and hike up the shallow dirt incline toward the cement foundation to find something to clean the cut up with.
As I’m unraveling some paper towels from the roll I found near the drill saw, Avery turns the corner with her attention on her phone and she just about runs into me.
“Oh, hey.” She shuffles back, putting her phone away. She looks about as unenthused to see me as when she first bumped into me yesterday. “I didn’t know you were back here.”
“Yeah, I was just getting some of these.” I rip off the paper towels and dab the blood off the side of my hand.
“Oh my God, what happened?” she asks, reaching for my hand.
I almost pull away from her, but stop the moment her fingers wrap around my wrist as a soothing sensation lulls through my veins. “I cut it on a nail.”
When she leans down to inspect where my skin is sliced open, strands of her purple bangs fall into her face. I have the strangest urge to reach up and tuck them behind her ear, just so I can watch her watching me.
Why does she see me so well?
“You might need stitches,” she mutters then peers up at me through her long, dark eyelashes. “We—you should definitely go to the doctor.”
I pull my hand away from hers then press the paper towels back over the bleeding area. “Trust me, I’ve had way worse cuts than this that I’ve never gotten stitches for.” Besides, I can’t afford a doctor, another reason why Nova is right—I do need to find a job.
“But you could get a scar.”
“I have a ton of them already. What’s one more?”
Her fingers absentmindedly brush the hem of her tank top while she gazes over my shoulder, the sunlight reflecting in her hazel eyes. “I don’t know…” She focuses back on me. “At least let me put some peroxide and a band aid on it.”
“I’m not sure you’re going to find that stuff around here. Well, maybe a band aid, but not the peroxide.”
“I have some in my purse in my car.”
“You carry that stuff with you?”
“Yeah, I like to be super prepared.” Her laugh is off pitch then turns her back to me. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her leave, checking out her ass the entire time. Moments later, she’s returning with a bottle of peroxide and a few band aids.
“All right, give me your hand.” She’s put on a pair of sunglasses so I can’t see her eyes anymore. I find myself a little saddened because I can no longer observe her while she’s studying me.
She removes the paper towel from the gash, briefly examining it before unscrewing the cap off the peroxide. “This might sting a little,” she warns.
“I can handle it,” I assure her, but take a deep inhale anyway.
She tips the bottle and douses the cut. I hardly move, even when the sizzling liquid stings my flesh. I’m more fixated on watching Avery take care of me. The way her fingers graze my skin and the way she’s careful with everything. From her touch to the way she cradles my hand in hers is driving me mad in the best way possible. I can’t even remember the last time someone did something like this for me and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed someone taking care of me.
“There. All fixed up,” she says when she presses the last band aid over the wound. “You’ll be almost as good as new.”
I glance down at the band aid that has puppies on it. “Puppies?” I raise my hand and cock my brow. “Really?”
“Hey, if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.” She bends over to collect the peroxide bottle and garbage from the ground. “I still think you should get stitches but it’s your choice what you do.” When she stands back upright, her expression gradually plummets as her gaze converges with mine, as if she sees something in my eyes that terrifies her. “But anyways, I better get back to work.” She hitches her finger over her shoulder and steps away from me.
It dawns on me then that I wanted to ask her stuff. It’s why I ended up cutting my hand in the first place—because I was too fixated on her.
“Avery, wait. Is everything—”
“You should probably get back to work too,” she cuts me off then spins on her heels, calling dismissively over her shoulder, “And make sure to take care of that cut.”
I stare down at my hand, feeling the sting of rejection. But I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. It’s just another wound. Nothing a scar won’t fix.
Chapter 9
This is life, not a dream.
Avery
Flames circle me, singe at my flesh. It’s so bright and yet so dark as the fire mixes with the smoke and melts the paint off the walls around me. I try to get up, but my body won’t budge. My world is collapsing around me. My life is collapsing around me. I’m going to burn alive. I know it. Can feel it in the heaviness of my lungs.
I’m going to burn alive.
And it is all my fault.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Flames. Bright. Hot. I’m going. Drifting. Dying. My last breath is leaving my lungs and my final thoughts are going through my mind...
Keep Mason safe for me.
Keep Jax safe.
Let them both have good lives.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I can feel my skin melting off like wax, but the pain is no longer there. Instead, I feel at peace as my world around shifts into something else. Something that used to calm me.
The stars.
Help me.
Keep me.
Put me back.
Help.
Help.
Help.
“Avery, can you hear me?”
What are you trying to tell me?
Please, just tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Avery, wake up.”
My eyes shoot open and I jolt back, bumping my head on the back of the seat.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
My attention whips to the passenger side of my Jeep. Tristan’s friend Nova Reed is sitting in the seat with the door ajar. Her expression is laced with concern, and she has a power drill in her hand. It takes me a beat to process what’s going on. Somehow I managed to fall asleep on the job. Thankfully, it’s at the Habitat for Humanity one—the one I don’t get paid for—so even though it’s not the best situation, it could be worse. Way, way worse.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell Nova, my eyelashes flitting against the sunlight as images of the fire still sting at my brain. Then I glance at a piece of paper on my lap and remember why I’d decided to eat lunch in the car.
Because I felt like being alone.
The note was on my doorstep this morning. A stupid note from the stupid bastard ex-husband of mine who right on cue upped his harassing phone calls to letters.
Avery, we need to talk. It’s important. I want to see Mason and you. Just let me see you guys, even if it’s for a couple of minutes. You owe me that.
He didn’t sign it, probably knowing he’d be in deep shit if he did, but I recognized
his handwriting. He can go fuck himself because he’s not ever seeing Mason or me again. His visits aren’t worth anything and I’ll never, ever take my second chance and waste it on him.
“Are you sure?” Nova asks me. “You look a little out of it. I could cover for you if you want to nap longer.”
I first met Nova while she was helping build my house. She’s actually the one that introduced me to Tristan. She seems really sweet and nice, and like someone who I would have hung out with back when I still had dreams instead of nightmares.
Wreck Me (Nova #4) Page 8
