Wreck Me (Nova #4)

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Good, because I’m not into cowboys.” And now I’m flirting again. Great, just great. I’ll be a disaster for repeating history if I’m not careful.

  My scars suddenly feel ten times thicker and heavier, reminding me why I have the no guy’s rule. Pull or not, I didn’t come back to repeat my mistakes. I was given another chance at life and promised myself I’d do better and that it wouldn’t be about me. Promised I’d figure out why I’m here, which isn’t to flirt with guys, even hot, entertaining one’s who protected me one night.

  “So other than this and visiting home, what have you been up to?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation simple.

  He shrugs, seeming a little sad. “Not much, but that’s kind of my M.O.”

  “I doubt that’s true.”

  “Nope. It’s totally true.” He’s attempting to smile it off, but it’s clear he’s bothered by his words.

  “Well, what do you do in your free time now?” I ask, partially because I want to get to the bottom of if he’s sober without actually having to flat out ask.

  “Hang out with Nova and Quinton. Do school shit when I have classes.” He shrugs. “There’s not really much to me, Avery.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” The last thing I ever meant to do was make him depressed. “Everybody has layers. Some just don’t like to show theirs as much as others.”

  He stares blankly at me. “I still see you’re as blunt as ever.”

  I shake my head, even though it’s kind of true. “No way. I’m not that blunt.”

  “No, you kind of are… but it’s a good thing. I like it.” He tousles his locks back into place as he considers something deeply. “So, how are you doing?” There’s an edge to his voice. “I mean, for the last three months.”

  His words contain an underlying meaning. He’s not just asking how I’ve been doing for the last three months, but how I’ve been doing the last three months after he had to stop Conner that day in the alleyway behind the bar. I don’t really want to talk about that but the sincerity in his eyes almost makes me spill secrets that were never meant to be told.

  “I… um…” I struggle with how to answer.

  How can I lie to him?

  When he knows so much.

  About my secrets connected to my scars.

  And the stars.

  His blue eyes soften. “Avery, if there’s something wrong, you can tell me. That night was intense and I… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Am I okay?

  I’m not sure.

  We look at each other.

  Unsaid words.

  Secrets.

  Ones I don’t want to share.

  But kind of do.

  The way he’s looking at me, like he knows me and he genuinely wants to know only if I’m okay, makes it hard to fight keeping up the wall I placed around myself. There are no expectations in his eyes. No alternative motives.

  I’m not one for discussing my problems, but if I was, I just might tell him everything right now.

  About Conner.

  My marriage.

  My divorce.

  My past and darkness of it.

  And I just might tell him about the stars, too.

  I just might tell him about…

  Well, me.

  My lips part. “I think you should know—”

  My phone rings from inside my pocket. Thinking of the call this morning, I tensely fish it out but only grow more anxious when I see Mason’s school’s name flash on the screen.

  “I have to take this,” I tell Tristan then turn around and press talk, all my motherly instincts telling me something could be wrong. “Hello?” I answer worriedly.

  “Is this Avery Hensley?” a woman asks from the other end of the line. “Mason Hensley’s mother?”

  I bite on my thumbnail. “Um, yeah.”

  “This is the secretary at your son’s school. I was calling to let you know that there was an incident at the school this morning.”

  Panic flares like fire through my veins. “What kind of an incident?”

  “He was involved in a fight with another student,” she explains. “No one was hurt, but he’s saying he’s sick now and wants you to come pick him up.”

  I work to remain composed and force the internal fire to simmer out. But the fact that he got into a fight has me concerned and not in a normal, worrying mother kind of way. “What kind of a fight exactly?” I ask cautiously, my scars scorching from underneath my shirt. “Like an actual physical fight?”

  “No, nothing like that,” she replies and I slightly relax. “Just a little bickering over having to share something. I probably would just send him back to class but considering what was discussed with the principal when you registered him, I’m a little concerned.”

  “Concerned about what exactly?” I had to tell the school about Conner, because of the restraining order. The last thing I needed was Conner showing up and trying to pick up Mason from school.

  “Well, I’m not a therapist, but—”

  “No, you’re not,” I cut her off before she says something that will rile me up. “I’ll be there to pick him up in like thirty minutes.” I hang up and turn to leave, almost running into Tristan’s sweaty chest again.

  “Everything okay?” he asks with concern.

  “Yeah.” I unfasten my tool belt. “I just have to go take care of some things. That’s all. But can you do me a favor?” I ask, handing Tristan the tool belt. “Can you go find Wilson and tell him I had to take off early but that I’ll make it up tomorrow?” I have no idea how I’m going to make good on that promise, but I’ll just have to figure out a way like I always do.

  “Um, yeah, sure.” Perplexed, he takes the tool belt from me.

  I stride past him and head toward my vehicle, calling over my shoulder, “Thanks a bunch. And it was nice talking to you again.” I’m blowing him off and I don’t like myself very much for it. But like always, I do what I have to do to keep my life on the right track.

  “Are you really sure you’re okay?” Tristan yells out.

  “Yeah, perfectly fine.” I wave at him then I take off running for my car, running away from the feeling chasing at my heels, trying to pull me backwards.

  ***

  An hour later, I’m parked in front of the elementary school with the windows down and the air conditioning on. Mason is strapped in his booster seat in the backseat while I listen to him explain what happened and I try my best to keep an open mind.

  “I promise I didn’t start it,” he swears to me, clutching his tummy like he’s sick. “And I wasn’t feelin’ good after it happened so I wanted to come home.”

  “Mason, you need to try not to fight,” I tell him. “If there’s a disagreement, you should talk to the teacher or try to resolve it without yelling or fighting.”

  He sighs. For an instant he seems way older than his five years. “But that’s what you and Dad always did.” He looks away from me, tears bubbling in his eyes at the mention of his father whom he hasn’t seen in two years.

  I think I’ve been waiting around for this moment since Conner left our lives. Mason was only three when he left and I knew there was a chance that he might not remember what went on between his mother and father.

  And there was also a chance he would.

  “Mason.” I bury my emotions the best I can, because this isn’t about me right now. “The stuff that went on between your daddy and I… Well, it shouldn’t have happened.”

  He stares at me with the same eyes that belong to his father and I loathe myself for momentarily flinching at that factor.

  “Then why did it happen?” he asks.

  “Because sometimes grownups make mistakes too.”

  “Then maybe you made a mistake by making him leave.”

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  Breathe.

  “That wasn’t a mistake, sweetie. Your father and I… We weren’t happy together.” I reach back and
pat his leg. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t love you any less.”

  “Then why doesn’t he come see me then?” Mason asks with false hope, the same false hope I used to carry when I was his age and told myself that one day my father would come back for me and save me from the crack-whore house I lived in. Then Conner showed up and for a fleeting, stupid moment I thought he was there to save me instead.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  “Mason, there’s more to it than that.” I search for a way to explain to him without telling him about why his father went to jail and that he doesn’t see him now because of the restraining order.

  Mason folds his arms and turns his head away from me, scowling. “Yeah, because you won’t let me see him.”

  “Mason, that’s not…” I stop myself. “Me and your daddy both love you.”

  “That’s not true!” he cries with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just leave me alone! It’s all your fault he left!”

  My scars.

  They burn.

  Like fire.

  Like the stars.

  It’s not like this is the first time Mason has asked questions about his dad or cried over his absence. He did that even before Conner and I got a divorce. But it doesn’t make seeing his tears any less difficult. What it does do is make me feel like the shittiest mom in the world.

  What do I do?

  Tell him the ugly truth?

  Scar him too?

  In the end, I tell him it’s going to be okay then listen to his tears as I drive back home, trying not to remember the path that led me here. But I painfully do and it makes me feel like the guiltiest mother on earth.

  Everything once seemed so full of possibilities…

  And now I have no idea where to go.

  A little over five years earlier…

  Chapter 6

  This feels like a dream.

  Avery

  I’m having fun. Yes, I, Avery Hensley, am having fun. I thought it would never happen and most days I feel like I’m dreaming. I’m not sure if life is supposed to feel like this when it’s good or if it’s just my dreamer side magnifying the sensation. It doesn’t matter, though, because for the first time in my life I feel happy and free. And not because my father came to my rescue—I’ve finally been able to give up on that dream now that I’m leaving my old life behind.

  Leaving The Subs behind.

  Leaving my mother.

  And the blaring music and drugs.

  “So what is it with the stars that gets you looking up at them every chance you get?” Conner asks me as he traces a finger along my jawline. “Is it because you’re planning our future?”

  We’ve been going out for three months now and it’s been probably the three best months of my life. I spend fewer days at home, relaxing and having fun—how I’ve always wanted my life to be. And Conner, well he helped give that to me. He takes me out on dates all the time in his cars, to the movies, to dinner. I’ve even met his mother who seems really nice. I also found out that his dad hasn’t been around that much, which made that pull I felt toward Conner even more powerful. Plus we have plans. Of getting our own place someday. Going to college. Getting good jobs. It’s pretty much the same plan I’ve always had, only now it includes Conner.

  I have to admit my most favorite time we spend together is when we go stargazing, like right now.

  “I don’t know.” I roll over in the bed of his truck and look over at him. He’s lying on his back, languidly grinning at the starry night sky above us, with his arm draped across his forehead. “Maybe. But what would our future say?”

  He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “How about you tell me?”

  “Well, we’ll continue doing just this until tomorrow,” I say as I sketch his scruffy cheekbone with my fingertip.

  “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll go to school and keep going to school until we graduate college.”

  He cocks a brow at me. “But what if I don’t want to go to college right away?”

  “You do. I know you well enough to know you want a good life, just like me,” I whisper then gently kiss his cheek. “You want to know what I want to do in the next thirty seconds, though.”

  His smile turns darker than the night. “I have a couple of ideas.”

  “Oh yeah? You think you know me that well?”

  He lifts his head up but doesn’t kiss me, instead stopping an inch short. “I think I do.”

  “Then what am I thinking right now?” I whisper, my gaze fixed on his eyes no matter how much it wants to drift to his lips.

  “That I’m the most amazing person ever,” he teases then seals his mouth to mine, reading my mind perfectly. And that’s how we stay for what feels like hours, searching each other’s mouths under the stars, like we’ve done every Friday night for a couple of months now.

  When he finally does come up for air, it’s not to stop or to pressure me to go further, but to tell me something.

  “I love you, Avery,” he says, his fingers tangling through my hair as he peers up at me.

  My heart ceases in my chest.

  He loves me?

  Loves me?

  Do I love him?

  Do I?

  I have to, right? Conner is perfect, heading somewhere, and seems to want to bring me with him. He makes me smile when I’m sad. Takes me places I’ve never been before. Makes me happy. Makes everything feel like a dream instead of… life.

  “I love you too,” I whisper back.

  We start kissing again, only this time it turns into so much more. There’s no exchange of words agreeing to go further. Clothes just come off and our bodies unite. Everything feels perfect, even when a storm rolls in and thunder starts to boom. We continue making love through the rainstorm, well into the morning. And everything, life—the world—feels…

  Surreal.

  Like a dream.

  If it is, then never let me wake up.

  Chapter 7

  This feels like a nightmare.

  Tristan

  I’m lying in bed, high, when I hear the news. At first I wonder if I’ve lost my mind when my mother walks into my room because she’s looking right at me, like she all of a sudden sees me, and there’s no hate in her eyes, only sorrow. Then she opens her mouth and says something. At first I think I’ve heard her wrong. That somehow I’ve forgotten I took a hallucinogenic and what I’m hearing and seeing isn’t real, but a fucking nightmare my high brain is conjuring up.

  But she keeps repeating herself until I eventually come to the realization that I’m awake and high and I’m completely hearing her correctly.

  “Ryder’s dead,” she says as she sobs, grasping onto the doorframe of my bedroom as if it’s the only thing holding her up.

  Ryder’s dead?

  Ryder’s dead?

  Ryder’s dead?

  Suddenly, my general depression about everything seems misplaced. All this time, I was sad about life and now my heart hurts so goddamn badly that I can’t breathe.

  “What? How…?” I manage to get two words out as I sit up and stagger to my feet.

  “Ryder’s dead!” This time she shouts it with tears streaming out of her eyes as she collapses to the floor on her knees.

  I’m not sure what to do. Panic? Cry? Hug her? We haven’t hugged since I was twelve years old, and she’s always seemed pretty content about it. But now she’s not content. She’s breaking on my bedroom floor because Ryder is dead.

  My older sister is dead.

  Gone.

  And I never got to know her.

  Not really.

  Never got to tell her that I loved her.

  Never told her I’m sorry for being the dark cloud in the family.

  And now I never will.

  I choke on my thoughts as I make my way over to my mother. Then I drop down on my knees in front of her, and after hesitating, I wrap my arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry, mom.” Tears sting at my eyes as I say
it, realizing that I am sorry.