Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  When her head tips back and her lashes unmask the ocean blue eyes I’ve missed with every inch of my soul, my body goes limp and my arms grow heavy, slipping from her hold as they fall against my body. Still tethered by my shirt, I’m unable to react properly when Hannah steps up on her toes, and the shock of her cool lips against my cheek stuns me motionless and unable to speak. Even as she falls back to her heels and stares up at me with an uncertain expression, the kind that accompanies impulsive decisions and regrets, I’m frozen and speechless.

  Reaching forward, she places her palm on my bare chest, her sharp nail scratching softly at the three letters that are her name. She must know.

  Hannah Beth Judge.

  H B J

  It could be nothing else. No one else.

  “Please be safe, Dustin. Out there? Wherever you go. That’s . . . that’s all.” Her fingertips glide down the center of my chest, slipping away far too quickly. As does she.

  I remain standing in that same spot for several minutes, my shirt dangling half on my arms, my chest cut open with invisible wounds that hurt a thousand times more than the real ones cut from glass.

  Hannah wants to hate me. And part of her definitely does. But most of her? She just can’t. Because we’re real, and we’re forever. And even the fucking hands of fate with all their destructive power can’t undo our destiny. Shame on me for thinking I should give up so easily.

  4

  I’m pathetic.

  It took less than twenty-four hours of Dustin within rock-throwing distance for me to break about a dozen of the vows I made to myself when he left me four years ago.

  Damn him.

  Damn him and those hazel eyes! And his floppy hair that has only gotten longer, more touchable. Maybe softer? And that body of his, lean and toned. His skin golden from working out in the sun, lying flat on his back and sliding out from undercarriages of cars and trucks. And that tattoo. That wasn’t fair.

  I haven’t slept a single second. I took out my sketch pad to work on my shadowing technique and I filled a dozen pages with pictures of Dustin drawn from memory. The sun is peeking over the horizon, the beams finding their way through the slats of my shutters. The chimes Dustin gave me for my seventeenth birthday hang from a thin piece of fishing line above my bed. When the air blows just right, they move with the sunlight, the jagged pieces lighting up like precious gems. As mad as I was—am—I couldn’t part with his gift. I wouldn’t even take it down. I drew the line at taking it to college with me. If I’m being truthful, though, it was less about holding myself accountable and more out of fear that Bailey would destroy it or toss it out when I wasn’t looking. She’s been good at removing temptation.

  She’s been my voice of reason. Maybe a little bit my conscience, too. She never tried to stop me from breaking my self-made rules, but she was quick to question them. Like the first time I got absolutely lit at the High Tower Bar after finals our sophomore year and found myself wandering the back alley to decide whether I wanted to throw up or call Dustin and beg him to come home. She held my phone and made me stare at the screen, at his number that I’m not supposed to have, and asked if that was what I really, truly wanted.

  “There’s no going back once you make that call,” she said.

  It was enough to snap me out of my manic, drunken state and put my phone away. I threw up instead.

  Ava hung around after the police questioned us, long enough for Bailey to go home. I’m not sure even Bailey would have been able to stop me from rushing to Dustin’s aid, though. I knew he was hurt. And he’s here, in the flesh. It’s so much easier to avoid making stupid phone calls or sending texts than it is to avoid an actual living, breathing human.

  “You up?” The soft knock at my door that follows my brother’s voice jars me, but only a little. I’m so tired that a breakdance crew of zombies could knock on my door and I’d have the same response.

  “Come in,” I say.

  My brother slowly pushes my door open and slips in along with his duffel bag. I’m guessing the rest of his things are still piled downstairs by the front door, or in the trunk of his car. This might be the last summer both he and I are home together. It’s strange, and a little sad.

  “Hey!” I whisper, sitting up and drawing my legs in so my brother can sit in front of me. I wrap my arms around him the second he does and squeeze him tight.

  “How was your drive?” Unlike me, who only went to Northern State about a hundred miles away, Tommy opted for Nebraska. My mom cried fat alligator tears when he finally told her. She’d spent a year preparing herself for him being in New Mexico. Then he went and added a thousand miles to her commute. Doesn’t mean she hasn’t made it. She’s visited my brother at school more times then she has me, and I don’t require a flight.

  “Long. Not as long as it will be next year, though.” Tommy picks up my sketch pad and I hold my breath, afraid he’s going to flip through it and see my Dustin drawings. He drops it to the floor instead, though, then flops back on my bed. I stare down at him, the sunlight coming through enough to let me really zero in on his eyes.

  “You got in.” He applied for a master’s program in Chicago. Our mom is going to shit.

  He rolls his head to the side and lets his smile break through.

  “I got in,” he says. “Delayed, because I have one more semester to finish up. Four-year college, my ass!”

  “Dude, right?” I laugh with him. I’ll be lucky to be done in five.

  We both sigh in sync, which makes us laugh. That sound fades soon, though, and all that’s left are the few things we don’t want to talk about.

  “You hear Dustin’s in town?” I throw it out there first because I’m sure he has. I know our parents were expecting him. They’re acting funny because of it, as though all their words and actions are taken from some pre-approved script.

  Tommy lets out a heavy breath. His stare has wandered back to my ceiling, and I don’t have to follow the path to know he’s staring at my chime. Guilt drips down my throat and coats my stomach as he pulls his lips in tight, stretching out the silence.

  “You see him?” He turns to face me enough to quirk a brow.

  I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, briefly considering lying. Tommy reads me better than anyone, though, so I nod. He mimics my movement then returns his stare to the ceiling.

  “He look good? And no, I don’t mean in the way you and Bailey probably discuss him looking.”

  I stretch out my feet and kick my brother’s hip.

  “Don’t be like that,” I say.

  “Like what? Honest? Hannah, you’ve thought Dustin was a—what did you call him, hottie, that’s right—since fifth grade. I just want to know if the dude looks healthy and shit.”

  I laugh at my brother’s mocking of me then nod.

  “Yeah, he seems good. I mean, he cut the shit out of his arm last night out on the Straights, but—”

  Tommy sits up and groans. It’s not as if I could hide what happened from him. He’s home for eight weeks like I am. People around here talk, and it’s pretty likely that the Straights will have to cool it for a couple weeks until chatter dies down.

  “You went racing with him?” Tommy’s full-on facing me. His tone is less brotherly and more fatherly. It annoys me when he gets like this.

  “Noooo.” I roll my eyes, but my chest is still tight because I’m omitting details. Fucking guilt! “Not with him.”

  “Hannah.” I hate his scolding tone.

  I sit up and twist so my feet touch the floor, and busy myself with the hair tie next to my bed. It’s better to talk and not look my brother in the eyes.

  “I was there with Bailey. We were bored. I raced some newbie and he rolled his car. Dustin showed up, and I swear I didn’t know.” I did hope he would, though. I’ve been hoping to see him out there every time I drive.

  My brother runs his palm over his face and grumbles through his fingers. He looks at me sideways.

  “Kid rolled his car?”
>
  I grimace.

  “Yeah. He’s gonna be okay. It was pretty bad, though. Ava said it was handled, but I don’t know. This one might be it, ya know?” We’ve all worried the day would come when officials quit looking the other way, and I can’t help this lingering feeling after last night.

  “I’m sure we’ll be the first to know. Speaking of, how is the mayor?” Tommy shifts into my second favorite topic—Mom.

  She and I haven’t been the same since I dated Dustin. Part of that is my fault, and I know it. I can’t seem to help my vocal reflexes when it comes to her. Everything she says sets me on edge, and I react. Not well.

  “We were cordial yesterday. I’m sure tonight will be a great test. Family dinner and all,” I remind Tommy. He stands, stretching his arms up until his fingertips dust my ceiling, then beams his signature fake grin at me, teeth and all.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, moving toward my door.

  “That’s ’cause you’re not allowed. Mom would hunt you down. I bet she can smell that you’re here. She’s part wolf,” I say.

  Tommy chuckles.

  “You read too much paranormal. I’m starving, so I’m gonna grab breakfast. You want in? Or . . . would you prefer to have an early morning awkward encounter with Mom and really start this summer off with a bang?”

  “Uhm, no, thank you. Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs. I’ll drive.”

  My brother offers a crooked grin, and I know what he’s thinking—that he’ll beat me to the driver’s seat. We both love being behind the wheel of the Supra, but for whatever reason, Tommy usually relents and lets me have my way. I think it started as a way to help me cope with Dustin’s leaving. Now, it’s habit. Brotherly love.

  It takes a twenty-minute drive and a stack of pancakes for Tommy and me to fall right back in step. We take turns stealing bacon from one another’s plate, and he does his best to gross me out by showing me his food while he chews. We’re obnoxious, and way too old to be acting this way, but it soothes everything that was wrong with me an hour before. I’m almost back to feeling like myself when the front end of the most boring rental car ever crawls to a stop right outside our window.

  “Shit,” I mumble through my recent bite. Appetite . . . gone.

  I push my plate away, surrendering half my stack of hotcakes. Tommy’s brow pulls in tight in response and I lean my head toward the window, urging him to look. He does just in time to see Dustin step out. I look up and catch the moment they make eye contact.

  “Shiiiiiit,” Tommy grits through his toothy, plastered-on smile as he holds up a palm. Dustin gives him a nod through the window, then presses the lock button on his fob, flashing the lights. The burst glows through the window, like paparazzi cameras. As if this is the perfect moment to commemorate.

  Tommy leans forward, both palms on the table between us, the same smile still set between his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. I have to say hi.” He’s muttering his words without moving his lips, which is creepy as fuck.

  “It’s fine.” I sigh, looking down at my lap where I’ve contorted the cloth napkin into a bowtie.

  “Hey, man,” Tommy says, sliding out from the booth with open arms. The distinct sound of untied Vans sliding along linoleum floor edges closer to us. Four years later, Dustin is still wearing the same damn footwear and walking like a delinquent about to be busted.

  “Han.” He pushes his black hoodie from his disheveled hair and gives me a half smile with his greeting, dimple and all. Damn him for saying my name all hushed and perfect like he used to.

  “Hi.” I nod and instantly seal my lips. Tommy will be impressed.

  “We were just finishing up, but we could stay . . . if you want company?” My brother’s eyes slide to me as he makes this offer, and I’m sure mine are wide and begging him to stop. My stomach twists in anticipation of Dustin’s answer.

  “Thanks, but nah. It’s okay. I’m just gonna get some coffee and wait for this guy. He’s supposed to be here at seven.” Dustin pushes up his sleeve and checks his watch, his eyes tired-looking, probably from sleeping about as much as I did. Which would be zero.

  “What guy?” Tommy tilts his head curiously.

  “Lawyer for the state. Guess I’m in for the inheritance of a lifetime. Any interest in a nineteen-eighty-something trailer that’s probably had crack stuffed in its walls?” Dustin squints one eye and dips a brow while Tommy and I chuckle at his joke. On its face, though, nothing about what he said is funny. That’s where Dustin grew up. In a crappy trailer that was used to cook and hide drugs for most his life.

  “Alright, well, if you’re good. I guess we’ll pay our tab and see ya later, maybe?” Tommy again shifts his eyes to me as he extends the olive branch. If I weren’t in Dustin’s line of sight, I might shake my head, pleading for him to stop or make an excuse.

  “Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. As soon as this is wrapped up, I should probably get back. I’m already missing a race for this, so—”

  “Sure, no problem. Next time maybe.” Tommy drops two twenties on our messy table then leans in with stiff arms to hug Dustin. It’s not the same two boys who hugged like actual brothers most of my life. This is an embrace of two strangers.

  “See ya,” I hum as I shift to step through the tight space between my side of the booth and where Dustin stands. I only glance up for a second, not wanting to make eye contact longer than a breath. In my foolish haste, though, it isn’t my gaze that gets caught on my way out. Our hands like magnets, drawn to connect, whisper against one another as I leave two steps behind my brother. Our touch is painful, and lasts long enough for my pinky to hook with his then slip away. I shudder silently and suck in the hot morning air as soon as we get outside. It bakes the threat of tears and keeps me whole, but my hand will never be the same.

  There was longing in that touch. In a fragment of a second, our bodies told the truth—we aren’t done with each other. Not even close.

  I sink into the driver’s seat and glance to my left while my brother gets in. Dustin’s rental seems even more pathetic now for some reason. Nondescript, and washed of identity. Maybe I’m projecting the way I feel. I worked so hard to make myself into someone without the title of being Dustin’s girl. But who did I become? Not the girl I wanted to. I’m still taking business courses, like my parents wanted, and I fill my free time with anything that gives me a taste of that same rush I always felt being near Dustin. I’m no better than his mom or dad in my addiction, only I’m addicted to him.

  “You should go with him.”

  “Huh?” I clearly took Tommy by surprise. I chew at my thumbnail as I study Dustin’s form where he sits inside the diner, back to me, alone on a stool. I swivel my head and meet my brother’s twisted expression.

  “I thought you didn’t want to get too involved. Han, I’m so confused—”

  “No, you’re right. I don’t want to get involved. But I have this bad feeling, Tommy. Dustin knows his way around a race track and a pit and an auto shop. But who knows what Colt put in his name? I don’t think he should be there without someone with a little legal savvy. And you and I both know it can’t be Dad.”

  I let my pleading stare soak through Tommy’s armor, until his eyes soften and understanding settles in his posture. He sinks back against the passenger door and his eyes dip to the space between us.

  “Fuck,” he grumbles.

  “Yeah, fuck,” I agree.

  His eyes fall shut and he nods a few times, forming his hands into fists on his knees, as though he’s pumping himself up. He probably is.

  “All right. But if this gets messy, you’re bailing my ass out.” He points a finger at me and pushes open the door. I lean forward to meet his eyes before he shuts it.

  “You planning on getting in a biker fight or something?” I tease.

  “Hey, with Dustin? Anything is possible.” He shrugs out a laugh and flings the door closed. I crank the engine and wait while my brother marches back
inside. Even through the glare, I can see the smile spread on Dustin’s face when my brother steps up next to him and they clasp hands. Tommy takes up the stool to Dustin’s right, and Dustin leaves his hand on my brother’s shoulder for a few long seconds—long enough to glance my way and stretch his grin a little wider.

  5

  I’m glad Tommy came back in and met the lawyer with me. Not because I don’t think I could handle it on my own. I do. I’ve learned a lot about business and legal shit the hard way. But after Hannah’s hand brushed against mine, I lost my ability to focus. Even after all this time, Tommy wouldn’t let me sign everything the lawyer reviewed with us if something in there seemed risky. It meant while the man from the state rattled on about tax liabilities if I decide to keep the trailer—as if there’s a chance in hell I would ever do that—I was free to recreate that millisecond over and over in my mind. My own personal animated gif.

  I’m out of fantasyland, though. There’s nothing soft or supple about this place. If anything can wreck a memory of Hannah, it’s my old home.

  “You didn’t have to stick around for this part, dude.” I kick at a rusted coffee can in the middle of the dirt lot in front of the trailer. It leaks sludge as it spins, probably old tobacco Colt spit in there for target practice.

  “You’re my ride. I felt guilty asking you to drive me home only to come back out here.” Tommy kicks the can harder, sending it onto the neighboring property that’s junked up as much as this place. He shoots me a grin.

  “Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate the company.” I draw in a deep breath, the act difficult, like sucking air through a straw. Hands deep in my pockets, I pace around the property, making a mental list of what I might be able to sell or use, and what needs to get hauled out for a fee.

  “If you’re lucky, Colt left just enough cash in that safe deposit box to cover the dump fees,” Tommy jokes. He knocks a metal lid off a crate, and mice scurry out. We both leap back and scream like little girls.