"And that's a good thing, right?" He probably wants me to give him more of the details, but I'm not going to--can't.
"Yeah, it's a good thing. I promise."
He relaxes his hold on the board. "Good. You shouldn't be hanging out with a guy like that." He drops the board onto the table and lines it up with the blade. "So school, huh? I thought I was the only one crazy enough to do classes online."
"Yeah, well, I kind of have to, otherwise I'd never have time," I reply. "I only have two semesters left. I'll be super glad when it's over."
He glances over his shoulder at me. "What are you majoring in?"
"Something ridiculously boring. What about you?"
"I asked you first."
"Yeah, but I don't want to tell you because you'll probably think I'm boring."
He faces me, faking being wounded by my words. "I'm kind offended that you think that way of me, Avery. Seriously, I would never think you're boring."
I roll my eyes. "Oh whatever. You're flattered by the conversation we've been having."
"Why would you think that?" Amusement dances in his eyes.
I give another exaggerated eye roll. "Because I've been flirting with you and you know it." The truth escapes under no control of my own.
His expression mixes with shock and desire, his penetrating graze scorching my skin.
This isn't the time to go back to dreamland, Avery. You have your life on track. You're going to school. You're sober. And you have a purpose for why you're here, if you can ever figure it out.
But what if it's here?
As Tristan opens his mouth, I find myself way too eager to hear what he's going to say next. I never get to find out though, because he unexpectedly lets out a fake cough. Seconds later, Nova and Quinton appear beside us, looking drained yet happy.
"Hey Avery," Nova says while Quinton gives me a small wave that I return.
Then Nova focuses on Tristan. "We were going to head back to the hotel and get cleaned up to go out."
"Shit, what time is it?" I glance up at the sky, which is neon pink from the sunset.
"Five-thirty," Quinton says as he looks at the clock on his phone, scratching at a long, rough scar on his chest.
"Shit." I unbuckle the tool belt and toss it on the ground. "I'm supposed to be to work in half an hour."
"Where do you work?" Tristan asks. "At that Vibe place still?"
I nod distractedly as I text Jax. "Yeah... that'd be the place."
Me: Running late. Will drop off the car ASAP. Things going to be okay?
I feel bad that I have to ask Jax and again, I wish I didn't rely on him so much. But I don't know what else to do.
Jax: Yeah, everything's good here. I'll hold down the fort.
When I look up from my phone, Tristan keeps nodding as they make plans to go out for the night, but his attention is fastened on me. I'd wonder why, but I don't have time to get caught up in the wonders of the opposite sex and the inner workings of their minds.
"See you tomorrow." I wave then dash off, part of me wishing I could stay behind with them, making plans, going out, having fun. But at the same time, I'm glad I have to go, glad I can run away, glad I have a life to run away to.
And that's what I hold onto thirty minutes later when I start my night by showing up to work late. Thankfully my boss, Benny, likes me and doesn't get too upset.
"You doing okay, Avery?" He motions for me to come into his office.
I don't really want to talk to him, but at the same time I did show up late so I step inside. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
"You just seem distracted lately." He sets a stack of papers aside on his cluttered desk and leans back in the swiveling chair, putting his hands behind his head. "Is it about the dancing thing? Because you don't have to do that. You just won't get a raise if you don't."
I like Benny and everything, but lately he's been irking me with this dancing thing. "No, it's not that. I just... Well, I've had a lot of things going on."
His hands lower to his lap. "It's not Conner, is it?"
I shake my head. "No... I haven't heard from him in three months."
"Good." He nods then rises from the chair. "If you need anything, you can always come to me."
"I know." But I never will. Not with the way he's looking at me right now--like he wants to rip my clothes off. It's not that he's bad on the eyes or anything and in another life, I probably would consider dating him. But I have the no guys rule and unlike Tristan, Benny isn't tempting enough for me to even consider breaking that rule.
He rounds the desk toward me with a smile. "Are you going to stay late to do the books?"
"Maybe," I say and when he frowns, I add, "I was actually thinking about doing it tomorrow. Today has been an off day and I really need to catch up on some sleep."
He grazes his finger down the side of my arm, causing goosebumps to sprout on my skin and not in a good way. "Well, let me know what day and I'll make sure to stay late with you."
This isn't the first time he's touched me like that and I'm sure it won't be the last, but I can handle it because I don't want to have to find another job that fits with my very inflexible schedule.
"All right, I will." I leave the office then duck into the bathroom to take a quick paper towel bath to try and clean myself up so that my stench doesn't scare away customers.
As I'm heading out of the bathroom, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is pulled back into a tangled bun, my makeup nonexistent, and my shirt has a stain on it. My messy appearance makes it easier to remind myself that this is my life.
This is your reality.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.
What happened today with Tristan can't happen again.
And I'm reminded just how much truth my thoughts carry when I go out to the counter and Charissa pulls me aside.
"I'm not sure if I should tell you or not, but I'm going to anyway," she says with a heavy sigh. "Conner was here... and he was looking for you."
Chapter 10
This is Reality. This is my Addiction.
Tristan
It had been such a good day, hanging out with Avery, joking, flirting. It'd been a long time since I had a day that uncomplicated. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever experienced something that simple. But then I return to the motel that evening and just like that, the shittiness of the night starts as my phone rings.
Always does.
"Tristan, I need you to come home," my mother says when I answer my phone. I'm sitting at the table in the motel room with the blinds shut, the entire room dark, dusky, and silent except for the shower running. "Right now. It's super urgent."
"I can't." It's my typical response when she says this to me, always the same, stuck on auto repeat. "And besides I was just out there less than a month ago."
"So? You need to come home again," she replies anxiously. "Ryder needs you here when we put flowers on her grave and then I wanted to do something else for it... I'm not sure what but I figure that you might have an idea. Like maybe you could make one of those vases you used to do in art class."
Those vases she's referring to were actually pipes but I'm not going to tell her that and push her closer to the edge. "I don't know how to make those anymore."
"Well, what about a card?" she asks. "I know you love to write."
"Actually, that was Ryder." I sigh exhaustedly. "Look, Mom, I have to go." This is how things have gotten. A vicious cycle. One I've been stuck in for years with her. And she seems to be getting worse with each passing day. But instead of getting caught up in the endless circular pattern, I end it. "I have to go. I'm working," I lie, getting up from the chair and crossing the room toward my bed.
"Tristan, wait," she hurriedly spits out before I can end the call. "Please don't do this to your sister."
"I'm not doing anything to Ryder." I sink down on my bed, the mattress concaving beneath my weight. "Because she's gone."
"Don't say that," she whispers
in horror. "I can't believe you would say that."
"But it's true."
"I know, but..." she huffs, exasperated. "God, why are you doing this? You're a terrible brother, living with the person who killed Ryder."
I glance back to make sure the bathroom door is still closed, not wanting Quinton to hear any of this. "What happened wasn't Quinton's fault. Accidents happen and you need to start accepting that."
"No, they don't!" she shouts, clearly out of her mind, probably from popping too many pills. "This wasn't an accident! It wasn't! It would have never happened if he wasn't driving."
"That's not true." I work to stay calm through her irrationality. "He was the only one sober in the car for God's sake."
"So what? That doesn't mean he was driving safely. It's all his fault any way you look at it. Because of him, your sister's gone and you're a traitor for living with the person who killed her."
I'm starting to worry that it's not just the pills making her insane, but that she's losing her sanity. I think my dad even worries because while I was visiting he kept saying subtle comments that implied my mom might need some help.
"Mom, where's Dad?" I ask as I flop back on the bed, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose, and shutting my eyes.
"At the store," she answers heatedly. "And I'm done with this conversation unless you say you'll come home."
"Why do you want me to come home so badly?" I ask through gritted teeth. "When it's clear you hate me."
"I don't hate you. I'm just... disappointed in who you are." A long pause follows. I'm just starting to wonder if she's hung up, when she speaks again. "And by the way, that Dylan guy came here looking for you the other day. Said he needed to talk to you about something."
"Dylan came looking for me?" What the hell? I haven't seen Dylan since... Well, since my druggie days. And for a good reason. Not just to keep my sobriety, but because... "Mom, please tell me you called the cops when he showed up."
"Why would I do that?" she asks. "It's not my job to do that."
"Haven't you read the local paper at all over the last year?"
"I hate the papers. The articles are always depressing."
I open my eyes, lower my hand from my nose, and shake my head. "Mom, the police have been searching for Dylan for almost a year. They think he might have killed that Delilah Pierce girl I used to hang out with."
"That redheaded that always dressed like a prostitute?" she asks with zero sympathy. "Nichelle Pierce's daughter?"
"She wasn't a prostitute," I reply, but it's kind of a lie. Dylan was Delilah's boyfriend and he sometimes sold her out for drugs. Delilah was always so doped up she'd never really put up a fight. Dylan also used to hit her, even though Quinton and I would sometimes try to intervene when we were living with them. Delilah would always go back to him, though. "And did he say why the hell he stopped by the house?"
"He just said he needed to talk to you, but I kind of thought..." She trails off. "You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you?"
Having spent years in trouble, I have to really think about it. "No, I don't think so."
"You don't think so?" She laughs cynically. "God, you'll never change, will you?"
I sit back up. "Mom, call the police and report Dylan's visit. I have to go." I hang up on her and then there's nothing except silence.
My chest is heavy as I roam outside and then stand on the front patio section. I never should have gone home for those few weeks. It's made me regress. I think part of me, though, hopes--always hopes--that my mom will change her mind about me. That she'll see me as the son she has instead of the child who she has been stuck with. Although, it didn't help that Dylan showed up at the house. Why the hell would he go back to Star Grove of all places? And then stop by to pay me a visit?
"Probably to score," I mutter as I grab a pack of cigarettes from my pocket.
I stay outdoors for a while, smoking and staring at the road until one of my neighbors five doors down from me comes barreling outside. I swear I have some sort of drug radar inside me. Maybe it's all that time I spent living in crackhouses, getting spun out of my mind that's causing the radar to go off. But, for some reason, I can always tell who I can buy drugs from.
Take the guy. He's arguing with the woman who I think is his girlfriend, but that's not the dead giveaway that he's a meth head. It's in the speed he's talking and the rapid tick in his jaw as he shoves her, his sentences so tightly strung together. It's just like Dylan and Delilah had been, and I find myself torn between stepping in and going back inside.
But then, in the snap of a finger, they start kissing passionately. And I feel envious toward them, not just because they're high, but because they're kissing that intensely. I mentally note that if I'm going to break down, that's the place to go. I hate myself for making that note, but it comes more naturally than breathing.
Because this is my life.
My addiction.
After everything I've been through, it feels like it's never fully going to go away and part of me doesn't want it to because what else is there to me?
"Whatcha doing out here?" Nova asks as she steps out of the room and interrupts my drug-addict thoughts. She's changed out of her work clothes and into a dress. Her hair is up, her freckles are showing on her nose. She looks nice, but she always does.
"Just smoking and thinking." I flick my cigarette before getting to my feet and brushing the dirt off the back of my jeans.
I think about letting Nova know that Dylan is back in Star Grove, because she was once friends with Delilah, and I know Delilah's death still haunts her. But I don't want Nova to worry, so I opt to keep my mouth shut, at least until Dylan is found.
"About what?" Insinuation laces her tone but it takes me a minute to catch on to what she's implying.
"I wasn't thinking about Avery," I snap, overly harsh, but it's the truth. I was thinking about Avery when I first got back to the motel, but after my mom called my thoughts centered on my crackhead neighbors and getting a bump. "And you need to stop thinking that anything is going to happen between us."
I need to stop thinking that.
"Jesus, relax." Nova holds up her hands in front of her. "Did I say anything about Avery?"
I flick some ash off my black T-shirt. "No, but you've said it enough over the last few days that I knew where you were going."
"You guys looked pretty chummy working the table saw together today." She crosses her arms. "I thought you said you were going to try to avoid her--that you didn't want to get involved with anyone"--she makes air quotes-- "ever."
I had said that, right after the first day I'd run into Avery. But I'm not sure I ever really meant it. It's just something I said to protect myself from getting hurt. And what happened between us today, which wasn't anything really--yet it was--was an accident. An enjoyable accident, but still an accident nonetheless.
"You were watching us?" I ask Nova suspiciously.
"Yeah, I worry about you, being alone so much and also because... Well, you're heart's more fragile than you want people to believe." She looks more guilty than worried.
Nova has never said it, but I think she feels guilty for not being able to reciprocate my feelings when I told her I liked her as more than a friend. I think she blames herself for the fact that I've been off and on drugs ever since I declared my feelings and then kissed her, even though I was a druggie long before that happened. But that's just Nova. She cares way more than anyone else I've ever met, which is part of the reason I fell for her.
"I'm fine with being alone," I tell her, but it's not completely true. I just live in denial to avoid the painful reality. "And trust me, my heart's not fragile. At all."
"Yeah...." Nova mulls over something while twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. "Avery does seem really nice and a lot like you in some ways, don't you think?"
"No one's like me, Nova." I'm offended for Avery. The last thing she needs is to be compared to me. Some of the shit I've done... my si
ns...I'm not a good person and no one wants to be compared to that or really be with a person who has a fucked-up past like mine.
"Tristan, you're a good person." Nova shields her eyes from the sun with her hand. "And you want to know what? From my observation, I think Avery likes you. I mean, you even said once that the night you two hung out was hard to forget."
I shake my head, acting as if I don't care as much as I really do, pretending the idea of being with Avery isn't intriguing. Trying to ignore the need I feel deep inside me to spend hours with her. Ignoring the fact that earlier when I was showing her how to cut a board, I wanted to pull down her shirt just enough to finally see the rest of that tattoo of a tree that's on her back and perhaps kiss the lines that form the soul-baring words.
"Hard to forget doesn't mean it was a good night," I reply dryly. "Just one that stuck with me."
Wreck Me Page 10