Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  “I guess I talked to her last night, too.”

  “You did.”

  He nods, rubbing his head before bringing his gaze up to meet mine.

  “Dust, she sold you out.”

  I chew at my lips for a minute, trying to sort out the hidden meaning or make sense of what he said. Hannah left me and ran my heart through the fire and back again, and she had a right to do those things. Not sure how any of it is selling me out.

  “She called Alex.”

  I blink at my friend, my mind working its ass off to catch up to his news. Why would she call Alex? What’s to gain there? Unless—

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, fuck,” Tommy says.

  I bolt from the chair, knocking it over in my haste, and set my mug down by the sink so I can pace.

  “Everyone knows. I mean, not everyone, but my parents and Virgil. I think Douglas maybe figured things out too. But it’s cool. You look like the good guy.”

  “How do I look like a good guy?” I hold my arms out, wanting to rid myself of this smothering wrinkled shirt.

  “She told Alex you were working with the feds—”

  “Which I’m not!” Yet. I blink rapidly, both versions of me battling. I planned to, yes, but then Hannah left, and then I started thinking about simply playing it by ear. And maybe I never was going to go through with it at all. The Judges were so excited. Her mom was excited. The town.

  “Fuck!” I swing my arm across the counter, sending my mug flying through the room, coffee splattering in all directions and porcelain cracking into bits.

  I rush back to the small bed and riffle through the sheets for my phone, checking the time. It’s past noon. Gah! So much time for things to get really bad. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go.

  I check my messages, but still nothing from Hannah. Not a word. I hover over the text string I sent her last night, all of my begs and pleas. I want to ask her why. I want to explain. I want her back.

  Alex is going to kill me. Probably literally.

  I sit down and swallow bile.

  “I feel sick,” I shout to my friend. He squeezes into the space and sits on the floor in front of me while I hyperventilate.

  “The deal is dead. Kiss the Carney track good-bye.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut hearing his words. It can’t be dead. I’m this close!

  “You wanna tell me about the ten grand now?”

  His voice is different for this question. That’s the tone of a brother offended on his sister’s behalf, and maybe a little on his own. I rub my temples and stare at the floor.

  “No, I don’t,” I admit.

  He waits me out, probably hoping I’ll break. It’s no use, though. I’ve got too many things to sort through. I’ve got my own ass to save somehow, my life to protect. That little part of me that thinks maybe it’s for the best if Alex puts me out of my misery scares the shit out of me. That voice is there, though. I can’t deny it isn’t an option that I give the smallest weight to. Weight is weight.

  It takes me an hour to process what I know, and I almost call Alex a dozen times before finally deciding what a bad idea that is. I change into jeans and a clean shirt and jog over to the Judges’ trailer where Tommy sits around the table with his parents. I’m hoping his dad explained the ten grand thing, but even if he did, I can’t say he’ll see it any differently than Hannah did. The circumstances were different, though. I wasn’t being bought off. I was given the means to survive so I could keep her safe.

  That’s all meaningless when you take it into consideration in the shadow of my dealings with Alex. And that’s where I went wrong. I aimed too high. I wanted too much.

  I got greedy.

  “Dustin, how could you be so stupid.” Tom lays into me. I never let him see the contract. His son did, and that should count for something, but I’m not going to sell Tommy out. I need all the friends I can keep.

  “I really thought I could handle it. I wanted to make something happen. I wanted it for you,” I say, looking to Hannah’s mom. Her eyes sag, her expression full of pity.

  I pull out the last open chair and flop into it. It feels as though I spent the past four years being pummeled by life only to get this little glimpse of what it could be like if I had it all. It’s all so cruel. All of it.

  I swivel in the chair until my gaze meets Tommy’s, his stare leveling me with heated judgement.

  “Will you tell Tommy that I didn’t take a bribe to leave four years ago? Please?”

  “You didn’t?” Tommy questions.

  Tom slaps his hand on the table and stares at the wood grain.

  “No, he did not.” Tom turns to meet his son’s stare, holding it so long I start to sweat. Tommy does his best to brush him off, but his dad doesn’t let him, slapping his hand down again. We all flinch.

  He turns and points at Tommy. His finger always looks so long when he does that.

  “I made that choice. Not him. You understand? I made him leave. I told him to go for your sister’s sake, because of Colt. I didn’t want any of those bad things Colt was tangled up in to find their way here, to this home. To Hannah. To you!”

  Tommy nods, understanding seeping in. Tom turns to me, sliding his palm across the table, leaning in.

  “And then you go and tangle yourself in that same damn shit your dad did. And you brought it here. Because you thought you could handle it.”

  I suck in my lips and take the brunt of his anger. I own it and accept it. Because he’s right.

  “I did.”

  I did.

  “Development agreements fall apart all the time,” Hannah’s mom says. “It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.”

  Her panicked repetition of that word gives me the sense that she doesn’t quite believe it yet. I let her ramble on for the next half hour. We all do. We do it because it seems to make her feel better. I sit and listen because I have nowhere else to go, no one else to be with. The only solace I have is that none of this will hit the press. Alex won’t let that happen. My record stands. My life in this world is solidified. I won’t be going back to trucks any time soon. I only hope I don’t end up in a ditch.

  “I have to get some air,” Tom finally says as his wife repeats herself for a third time. I have more sympathy for her than I used to. Being mayor is her life. I think if I wasn’t able to rationalize that I wouldn’t lose driving over this, I’d need to replay the possibilities over and over again too.

  “I’ll come with you,” I say, leaving Tommy with his mom. He eyes me as I leave, and there’s still a tinge of anger in his stare. I’ll let him hit me if that’s what he needs. Punch me square in the jaw. But his dad is right. I didn’t leave because they paid me. I took the money because they insisted. I took it to survive. Because even if I had to leave, I still needed to live.

  I follow behind Tom toward the hauler. Virgil stands from the roof, whistling to get our attention. He waves us over and I jog to catch up to Tom. He’s still steaming, but he isn’t yelling at me so forgiveness is in my future. At least, I hope it is.

  I try to slow him down when we step into the back of the hauler. I want him to enjoy this. It’s a pretty cool space, the bottom floor an entire garage and parts storage along with a small kitchen and sleeping quarters. It’s not quite the luxury bus he picked up, but this one also hauls around a hundred-thousand-dollar race car on the second floor, so that kinda means it wins.

  He isn’t interested in a tour, though. His stride is long and consistent, taking the steps two at a time until we’re on the rooftop. The boys have a table set up and a game of poker going. The mood out here is a lot better than the one in the Judge’s RV, so I’m glad for that.

  “You guys want in? We’re playing with coupons because nobody has actual cash. You can Venmo your buy-in.” Douglas shakes his phone, ready to take payment.

  “Yeah, sure. What’s buy-in?” Tom takes a seat and nods to the empty one. I do as I’m told, happy he wants me around.

  �
��Fifty,” Douglas says.

  “Cool. Sending a hundred. Deal us both in.”

  “I can pay my way—”

  He waves a hand and leans to the side, squinting his eyes as he looks up at me.

  “This isn’t a bribe. And neither was that other thing.” He pulls his phone out and sends Douglas our buy-in. “You’re family.”

  I have to stare at him for a second after that. I haven’t heard him say those words in a while, and even now, I don’t quite believe them. But I need them.

  “Now, if I take your money in poker the mob isn’t going to show up to shake me down, are they?” Douglas doesn’t break his eyes from his cards as he makes the joke. It takes a second, but eventually everyone laughs but me. Even Tom.

  “I had it handled.”

  “I had it handled.” Tom mocks me the same way his son would.

  “Hey!” I protest. I throw in two coupons for my first bet. Everyone matches. That sucks because I’m bluffing.

  “Why didn’t you just ask your uncle?” Virgil throws in. His question makes zero sense.

  “Ask him what?” I throw in three and take three new ones, which aren’t any better than the last. I’m even bluffing about having a pair.

  “To partner with you on that track thing. I always wondered that. You seemed so bent on this Vegas guy.”

  I throw in my entire hand, folding before the round of betting gets going again. It wouldn’t matter if I had four of a kind right now, because what the hell is Virgil talking about?

  “Virg, I love you man, but Uncle Jeff wouldn’t be able to sponsor a lemonade stand with me, let alone a full raceway. He’s not even really my uncle, it turns out.” That last bit hurts. One more reminder of the shit cards life dealt me.

  “I don’t know anything about that not being your relative part, but I do know the man has millions.”

  Tom throws his cards in, and we both gawk at Virgil, who seems oblivious to our shock as he reorders the cards in his hands. He finally glances up to meet our stares.

  “Oh. You . . . didn’t know that?” He practically laughs with surprise.

  “The man lives in a shithole. He lives alone. He drives those crappy trucks around and picks up help, paying guys a day rate to move people’s shit for them.” I reach back in my mental files in search of context clues, but absolutely nothing stands out.

  “He doesn’t really need anything. And I think the man simply likes being alone.” Virgil shrugs as if his answer clears everything up.

  “He always was a bit of a loner,” Tom adds.

  “He dated Ava Cruz, queen of the Straights!” I add, nothing making sense. It didn’t make sense when she told me that, but now it really doesn’t fit.

  “That’s right!” Tom leans back in his chair, his thoughts on old times.

  “No! That’s not right! None of this is right. Jeff is a millionaire?” I’m standing now. Douglas and Ernie throw in their bets to call Virgil, who sinks everyone with a straight.

  “Nice hand, boys. Nice hand.” He sweeps the coupons into his pile, acting as if our conversation is done.

  “Virgil!” I hold my hands out as he looks up.

  “You never heard of Miller Trucking?” He’s shuffling the cards while talking. It’s this whole mysterious side of the man. He’s part card shark, part secret keeper.

  “He does the moving for free. He likes to pay guys who need a job, and he usually helps out seniors who can’t afford to hire help.”

  I shake my head and widen my palms.

  “What?”

  Virgil chuckles as he deals.

  “I thought you knew.”

  I look to Tom, who shrugs.

  “Man wasn’t very cool in high school. Beats me.” He takes his cards and winces, and I can tell it’s an act. The man’s probably holding aces.

  I sit back down and play my cards about as well as I did the first time. In fact, I fold six hands in a row. I’m merely going through the motions, busying my hands while my head tries to make sense of everything Virgil said.

  Why wouldn’t I ask Uncle Jeff to partner? Why wouldn’t he say yes? We didn’t spend a lot of time alone together, but the man was kind. He was busy, but he was kind. He seemed supportive of what I was trying to do. And despite his penchant for living in no-man’s land in complete squalor, he seemed to have a pretty good head for business.

  For the first time since my world came crumbling down, I breathe. I almost smile. I don’t know that I’ll be able to do that for real for a while, but I can feel my heart regulate. That vision I had for my future, it feels less fuzzy all of a sudden. It’s only missing one key part, and that’s because she thinks I traded her for cash. Turns out, she sold me for something way worse. She did it for vengeance.

  26

  Three weeks later

  Bailey isn’t taking my calls anymore. I don’t think she’ll hold this grudge forever. She understood my pain. She was the only one who did. She’s angry that I left before our final year of college, though. I couldn’t do it anymore.

  She’ll make new friends. I’m sure there are a ton of girls who will want to be her roommate. She’ll probably have an easier time studying. I won’t be there to distract her and drag her to parties and cry over my broken heart. I’m a lot of friend to handle. Bailey deserves better.

  I have more faith in her than I do myself right now. Omaha is in the middle of America, but it feels like a different planet. I think it has more to do with my complete change of major than the actual city I’m in.

  I took Dustin’s advice the minute I got to Camp Verde and I called the instructor with the art program. He wasn’t able to give me the apprenticeship. That spot was taken, as I feared, and the student had no intention of dropping out. But he did offer me a work-study opportunity. It’s going to mean a lot of long nights and I’ll have to be okay with scrubbing toilets. If it means I get to do what I love? I think I might be.

  The answer to my next worry fell into place too. I needed a place to stay, and it turns out the founder of the art institute is an older woman in need of a tenant in the apartment above her garage. All I have to do is convince my parents to pay the rent. I had enough for the first month, and it seems the least my parents can do, given that they ponied up ten grand four years ago just to make me miserable.

  Still, it’s the ask that seems impossible. I’ve been sitting on this bed, staring at my phone, dreading this call, for an hour. My mom doesn’t even know it’s coming. I leveled them with the news that I was dropping out of Northern and moving to the Midwest to study art. They barely contained their laughter so I told them to fuck themselves. I tossed around the idea of calling my dad instead. He’s always softer with me. I think maybe he broke my heart a little more, though. It isn’t fair, and the broken pieces aren’t even, but it’s true.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Sheila, the founder who owns the house, isn’t so good about knocking before entering. She’s bringing me more quilts. It’s ninety degrees outside, but she swears it gets cold sometimes. I think I have plenty of time before November.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” I give her a proper smile. I don’t want her knowing all the baggage I bring. “Probably homesick,” I add.

  Sick of home, is more like it.

  Sick. I’m actually really sick. My stomach has turned over about a dozen times today, and I keep breaking into major sweats.

  “You don’t look so good,” Sheila says, setting the blankets on the end of my bed and holding the back of her hand to my forehead. “You don’t feel hot. Maybe . . . clammy?”

  It’s like that word, the root of it—clam—is some sort of trigger. I hate seafood, and the thought of it sends everything in my stomach hurling up my esophagus.

  “Excuse me!” I hold my arm over my mouth and sprint to the bathroom where I hurl everything I’ve ingested today into the toilet. I don’t feel better now, but I don’t feel worse. That’s something, I suppose. I slide down so I’m sitting on the floor and tug the flusher,
getting rid of that awful smell.

  “Oh, wow, you eat something bad? That cafeteria at the school isn’t very good. You’re better off packing something from here.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. I don’t feel fine at all.

  “I mean, it’s either that, or you’re pregnant.” She laughs at her own suggestion, leaving me in the bathroom alone.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  It’s only been a few weeks, maybe five? But it’s possible. It is definitely possible. I crawl back out to the room, grabbing my phone and Googling every pregnancy symptom I can find. Everything I read seems to match up to how I feel. I’m probably projecting. I should get a test.

  I get to my feet and collect my things, but before I reach the door, my stomach lurches again and I have to drop it all and rush back to the bathroom for another round.

  The sweat comes and goes as fast as the wave of nausea. I’ve never rooted for food poisoning or the flu more in my life. This cannot be possible. This isn’t happening.

  I wait long enough to feel certain that I’m stomach-stable enough to get in the car and go two miles down the street. I buy two tests, and hit the restroom at a burger place next door so I don’t have to wait. It takes me almost a full minute to pee, and I’m not sure whether I’m dehydrated or nervous. The test, however, doesn’t take nearly that long to deliver my fate.

  Two lines.

  Two definite lines.

  Two very obvious, very pregnant lines.

  The second test comes back exactly the same. I set them both on my knees as I sit in a fast food restaurant bathroom stall, my underwear around my ankles. I blink, staring at the two tests so hard that my eyes blur them into one single stick.

  I’m having a baby.

  I’m pregnant with Dustin Bridges’ baby.

  A man I love and hate at the same time, if that’s possible. A man I’ve saved from himself so many times, the last one only a week ago when I stopped him from getting in bed with a very dangerous character. A man I watched lose himself to temptation. A man whose real mother lost him to a father who wasn’t fit.

  I’m terrified that Dustin has too much Colt in his blood. But this is his baby. He has to know. I have to tell him.