Wreck Me (Nova #4)

by Jessica Sorensen

  Shaking my head, I bend down to scoop up the tub of ice cream. “No. I just thought he followed me to argue about something.”

  Tristan crouches down to pick up the tub by his feet. “About things changing?”

  I nod then straighten my legs and stand up. “Yeah, I was lecturing him that I was going to make him watch Mason less.” I set the ice cream down on the counter then shut the freezer door.

  “That’s an interesting lecture.” He puts the tub of ice cream next to the one I just set down.

  I shrug then hoist myself up onto the counter of the kitchen, slipping off my flip-flops and letting my legs dangle over the edge. “He watches him all the time, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Yet he informed me today that he goes out on dates whenever he can, and it made me realize he doesn’t have a lot of free time.”

  Tristan relaxes back against the fridge and studies me as he folds his arms. “Do you mind if I ask you why he lives with you? Is it for his help?”

  I waver, determining what to tell him, then decide to go with the truth. “Remember how I told you my mom was a druggie? Well, I always felt bad after I got married and left Jax behind to live with her. The stuff she did… and the house… It was really bad. I finally came to my senses after I divorced Conner and got him out of there. But I still feel terrible that he had to live in such a shitty place… Some of the stuff we saw”—I shudder—“it was bad.”

  “I can imagine,” Tristan says, swallowing hard. “I’m sure some of my old homes were equally as bad.”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t a parent,” I remind him then add, “And neither was my mom really, yet she kept having kids.”

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  My insides wind into tight knots as I think about the call from Taylor this morning. “I have no idea. Jax was the last one born but occasionally when my mother would get really high she’d talk about other children she had before Jax and I… not sure what happened to them though. My guess is that they’re with their fathers or were taken away.”

  “Avery, that’s terrible.” He looks horrified, cut deep, like I struck a nerve.

  “Yeah it is, but at one point, I wasn’t any better.” I trace my finger over the letters inked on my collarbone. “I did a lot of stupid shit and almost followed in her footsteps.”

  “But you’re fine now,” he says, moving toward me.

  “I do my best.” I blow out a loud, cringe-worthy breath. “But enough about me. What about you?”

  He stops just inches away from me. “What about me?”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  His skin pales. “I used to have a sister.”

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “I would have never brought it up if I’d known.”

  “It’s okay,” he reassures me. “She died in a car accident when I was seventeen.” His gaze flicks to the window. “Quinton was actually driving.”

  “What?” I whisper in shock. Quinton was responsible for an accident that killed someone? “Quinton is your cousin, right? I think I remember Nova mentioning that the first time we met.”

  “Yeah. And the car accident was just that—an accident.” His eyes lands back on me. “He was sober and everything, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “But you’re friends now?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been through some tough shit together.”

  “And you forgave him?” I’m baffled and completely intrigued by the idea—intrigued by Tristan.

  “It was an accident,” he states again with a modest shrug. “And what good would it have done for me to stay mad at him? Trust me, he paid his penance.”

  His words remind me of my own penance, something I’m not sure I’ve paid for yet, since I’m not sure I’m really helping anyone. What am I doing exactly?

  “Jeez, you’re like a good person.” I eye him over, feeling as though I’m seeing him for the first time. “Most people wouldn’t forgive like that.”

  “My parents didn’t—still don’t. And maybe that’s why I did forgive him so easily, because I saw what their hatred did to them.” He shakes his head then places his hands on the counter, one on each side of me near my hips. It’s not a movement to get close to me, though, more to hold himself up. “My mom’s practically lost her mind over it and hates me for forgiving him.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

  “Well, she doesn’t like me.”

  “Neither does mine,” I say sadly. “She wasn’t a very good person.”

  “It’s hard to believe the woman who brought you into the word could be a bad person.” His lips quirk.

  And just like that, the mood shifts. It happens so rapidly, as if we can’t remain depressed for too long when we’re around each other.

  “Aw, and Pretty Boy is back.” I grin at him.

  “I guess you bring it out in me.” When he smiles at me, I feel all squishy inside that I put the happiness on his face.

  “Speaking of which…” He pushes back, and I frown at the distance between us. He rounds the counter, going to the sink and opening the cupboard below, then he crouches down to read the note scrawled on the wood.

  “I used to fall asleep reading it,” I admit. When he peers up at me in astonishment, I shyly add, “It reminds me of that night you stepped in when Conner tried to hit me.” I hop off the counter and amble over to him. “I don’t get to feel safe a lot.”

  He stares up at me in bewilderment. “So you thought about me a lot while I was gone for those three months?”

  I nod, feeling anxious and jittery, though not in a negative manner. In fact, if anything, it makes me feel alive, like I’m finally breathing for the first time in years. “Did you think about me at all?”

  He hesitates and then nods. “Every day… all the damn time.”

  We stare at each other, breathing ravenously. Then he slowly places a hand on each of my legs, his fingers splaying across my flesh just above my knees. As he stands up, his palms glide up my legs and all the way up my dress, slipping just under the hem and resting near my ass, the entire time his eyes never wavering from me.

  It’s been ages since I’ve allowed someone to touch me like this. The last time it happened, I forced my soul to die so I wouldn’t have to feel what was happening to me. What I did.

  This time, I feel it, though.

  Good God, do I feel it.

  A deep, throbbing heat coils up my legs and between my thighs. I bite down on my lip hard as I concentrate on breathing. I have to angle my head to look up into his hungry eyes and he looks down at me, urging me closer as he shuts his eyes, ready to kiss me. My lips part, ready for the kiss. Maybe more ready than I should be.

  Then I hear Mason laughing from outside, and it reminds me of my life. I pull back, worried Mason will run inside and catch me kissing my “friend,” which is who I told him Tristan is when I introduced him.

  “Wait,” I breathe out with confliction.

  Tristan’s eyelids lift open, self-doubt written all over his face as he withdraws his hands from beneath my dress.

  I start to panic.

  Get confused.

  What to do?

  Hide behind my walls again?

  Go back to being lonely?

  Before I can sink too deep into my worries, I lace my fingers through his and make a choice as I guide him across the kitchen, telling myself I can have one fucking day to enjoy myself. It’s my birthday and I’m so tired.

  Tired of fighting what I want.

  “Not out here,” I say in a raspy voice.

  My heartbeat is erratic as I lead him down the hallway, figuring out where to go. The bedroom seems too intimate and the closet seems too weird. The only choice left is the bathroom, which isn’t ideal but is better than the last option, which is to not go through with this.

  I pull Tristan inside and kick the door behind us, relieved to see that the bathroom is somewhat cleaned up. “I don’t want Mas
on seeing us kissing or anything… I don’t think he’s ready for that.” I slump against the door, biting my lip when his gaze drifts to my heaving chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, either.”

  His eyes trail up my neckline, to my lips, finally coming to rest on my eyes. Hunger burns in his expression. He grips the counter to the side of him, like he’s afraid he’s going to fall.

  “Ready for what?” he asks huskily, causing my stomach to flutter.

  “For anyone to see me kissing you,” I admit, grasping the doorknob to hold myself up.

  “Avery, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I know you have your rules, and I promised you I’d follow them.”

  “I know, but it’s my birthday and I… I don’t know. I just want to do what I want to do for once.”

  “And what exactly do you want?” His voice is low, deep, his gaze blazing with desire. “Because sometimes I get mixed signals from you.”

  He’s right. I have told him countless times I just want to be friends. I’m sure it’s confusing. I bite down on my lip even harder, still unsure what exactly I want, but I guess he takes it as a sign to attack me. And boy, oh, boy does he attack me. One minute, he’s halfway across the bathroom near the sink, and the next thing I know, his lips are crushing mine.

  And I don’t care.

  At all.

  Because I feel safe.

  So safe.

  And wanted.

  And holy hell, my body craves more.

  Our tongues fervently tangle as he presses against me, devouring my mouth with his. There’s hardly any room between our bodies, yet he grips at my thigh with his hand, bringing me closer, as if he can’t stand the breath of space between us. His fingers start to slide up my dress again, and I arch my back, leaning into his touch, not running from it, even though part of me wants to flee.

  “Fuck,” he groans, biting my lip as he pulls away panting, but his hand stays put, climbing higher until his fingers graze my stomach. I tense, my breath staggering as I begin to panic.

  Not there.

  On my scars.

  That bare my darkest secrets.

  Sensing my panic, he moves his hand away, his fingers moving downward, past my hipbone to the edge of my panties.

  Yes.

  Oh, God, yes.

  He can touch me there.

  I can’t believe how much my body wants this. I’m already panting, and he hasn’t even technically done anything to me yet. He seems hesitant to go further, though, so I try to reassure him how much I want it—want him. Right now. In this moment.

  “It’s okay,” I pant, my chest heaving ravenously, hot need pulsating through my veins. “Tristan, go…” I moan as he slips a finger deep inside me, and my knees give out.

  He quickly slips his arm around my back to stop me from falling while he continues to feel me thoroughly with his other hand, driving my body into a frenzy. It’s been so long, my body is famished, starving for more—for things I’m not sure my mind is ready for. I should stop him, but I can’t. Don’t want to. Instead, I relax back, my head banging against the door.

  I let him hold me up as I climb higher and higher, about to crash over the edge and break apart. His lips come down hard on mine, scorching hot and needy, consuming to the point that I can’t breathe.

  But let him steal my breath.

  Take what’s left.

  Break me apart.

  Steal my heart.

  Because I don’t care.

  About anything else.

  Other than how amazing I feel.

  Right now.

  How amazing he’s making me feel.

  In this moment.

  How amazing it is that I’m here.

  With him.

  I continue to fall blindly and willingly into his touches as he trails passionate kisses down my jawline. When he slips another finger inside me, my toes curl, and then I gasp as his mouth reaches the base of my throat, right over the scar that’s barely noticeable to most. However, Tristan must have noticed it before because his lips pay extra attention to the old wound, as if he’s kissing the memory away.

  Unable to keep my knees from buckling, I slide my hands up his shirt and clutch onto his sides. His muscles constrict beneath my fingers, and the hardness only makes me come undone more. Right as I almost reach the top of the fall, he pulls his fingers out of me.

  My eyes open and I gasp a protest. “What are you—?”

  Without a word, he picks me up and carries me over to the counter. As I catch my breath, he spreads my legs open, and I wait eagerly for him to kiss me again. Instead, he drops to his knees and then…

  Oh, my hell. What the hell is happening to me?

  My head topples back against the mirror as he pulls my panties aside, and his lips brush the center of my thighs. My knees bend and my hips buck with the first swipe of his tongue. Every single inch of my body throbs. Begs. Screams for more. And he gives it to me, slow and sensual, deep and desperate. Every sweep of his tongue and gentle nip of his mouth causes the inside of me to tighten until I’m so wound up all I can do is let go.

  And fall.

  Fall.

  Fall.

  As I leave reality, going to that place I haven’t been to in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m falling into the unknown. I feel like I’m climbing somewhere, to a different place, one where I feel comfortable and safe, where I feel free. It’s amazing how unafraid I am, even after all that’s happened, even with all the scars, both visible and unseen.

  By the time I return from the haze, Tristan has stood up and positioned himself between my legs. He watches me in wonder and with a bit of worry as I blink back to reality and sit up.

  “Are you okay with this?” he asks, placing his hands on top of my knees and massaging my legs.

  I nod, still breathless. “More than okay. Are you okay with this, though?”

  He nods. “I just want to make sure that I didn’t push you or anything.” His usual cocky demeanor has cracked apart. A very vulnerable Tristan is standing in front of me now.

  Wanting to reassure him that everything is fine, I loop my legs around his waist and tell him the truth. “Best birthday present ever.” When I realize how much I mean what I say, something breaks apart.

  I start to cry.

  Lose it.

  Fall apart.

  “Oh, my God, Avery… I didn’t…” He’s horrified by reaction. “I thought you wanted that.”

  “I did want it. Trust me. That’s not why I’m crying.” Tears spill from my eyes as I sob, crying because, for the first time in over two years, I don’t feel so lonely. Crying because of how much I enjoy Tristan and how afraid I am to lose the safe feeling he gives me. Crying over bills. Crying over Taylor. Crying because everything seems so wrong, yet right. Crying because the last time someone touched me like this, it nearly led me to my grave. And with each tear, some of the pressure releases, and I feel freer.

  “Tell me what I can do,” Tristan pleads as he watches my pain pour out of me.

  “Hold me. Please, just hold me.”

  Without any hesitancy, his arms wrap around me, and he hugs me against his chest.

  And I clutch on to him for dear life.

  Chapter 32

  I feel like an imposter.

  Tristan

  The way Avery let me touch her is almost impossible to wrap my head around, and then she cried in front of me in a way that seemed like she truly trusted me. Even almost a week later, it still blows my mind. But I still feel uncertain if our relationship is right—if I’m right for her—when she doesn’t even know half the things I’ve done. I feel like a terrible person, like the old Tristan. I don’t want to be him anymore. I fucking hate him, something I painfully become aware of when I receive a call from my mother early in the morning.

  The sun hasn’t even risen yet, so I think about not answering the call, but I need to talk to her to make sure she reported Dylan.

  “Hello?” I answ
er as I roll over in bed and check the clock on the nightstand.

  “Hey, son.” It’s my dad who answers, which is odd because he never calls me.

  I sit up and turn the volume of the television down. Nova and Quinton aren’t in their bed, but I hear the shower running, so I’m guessing they’re in the bathroom.