“Forbidden.” The word rolls off his tongue as he dares another step toward me.
I place a hand on his rock solid chest to stop him from getting nearer. “No way. We’re not breaking the rule again.”
He gives me an innocent look, which I’m starting to learn is his thing. “I’m not trying to break any rules, just heading in the direction of the door like you.”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “If you knew what you were getting into, you’d be running away instead of me holding you back.”
His gaze swings to the large dumpster, where he once stopped Conner from hitting me, then he eyes the door over my shoulder. “I highly doubt that,” he mumbles then looks back at me. “But if you want me to back off, I will.”
Great. Now he’s giving me a choice that I’m clearly not capable of making. Repeating my mistakes. Repeating. Repeating. Repeating.
I thought I’d gotten better the second time around.
I have to do better to make up for what I did.
“I mean, it’s pretty clear we’re attracted to each other,” Tristan carries on, but doesn’t attempt to come any closer. “Or at least I’m attracted to you,” he says with a trace of self-doubt, giving me another glimpse of the side of him hiding under the flirty one. I kind of like this side of him and kind of fear it because it’s so…
Real.
As if I’ve lost my mind, I wet my lips with my tongue, a move I haven’t done in years. A slow smile curves at his mouth.
“You did that on purpose,” he murmurs while eyeing my mouth and moistening his lips with his tongue.
“No I didn’t.” I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth.
What the hell am I doing?
Stop leaning in Avery.
But we move like magnets. He leans in a little. I lean in a little. Me. Him. Me. Him. There’s hardly any space left between us. I can feel the warmth of his breath. Smell the delicious scent of his cologne. He’s still holding the cigarette and smoke circles around us, mingling with the intensity of the moment. Am I going to do this? Let my wall down for another guy?
No.
Yes.
No.
I never fully get to make the decision because Tristan eliminates the last of the space between us and our lips collide. Fire and lust blazes through my veins yet I remain frozen, refusing to take this kiss further. But when his warm tongue brushes against mine, my lips willingly part, as if they’d been eagerly waiting for this moment.
Holy.
Freaking.
Hell.
Two damn years.
I swear to God my body just combusted into flames. The fire inside me only blazes brighter as his hands grip my waist, his fingers delving into my flesh, pulling me closer as he sucks on my tongue, bites at my bottom lip, drowns me in heat. He starts backing me up somewhere… or maybe I’m pulling him with me as I move backward… It’s hard to tell. It’s hard to tell anything, other than he tastes so good, so warm, so enticing.
I’ve been so lonely.
And I want him.
God, do I want him.
His kiss is better than I imagined, carrying way more passion and intensity than I thought possible. And the fact that I have imagined kissing Tristan a thousand times becomes painfully aware to me. But I don’t have time to dwell on that revelation because he abruptly grasps my thighs and picks me up. My legs hook around his hips and seconds later, my back slams against the brick wall as he presses into me, rocking his hips against mine. My fingers stab through the back of his shirt as I seek something to hold onto, something that will bring me back to reality. Nothing works though and when he rolls his hips again, his hardness presses against me. My nails pierce through the fabric and scratch the flesh of his shoulder blades.
“Avery,” he groans, his lips leaving mine and trailing down my jawline to the faint scar on my throat where he licks a path to my collarbone.
This time, I’m the one to moan, a deep, throaty sound that I barely recognize as his teeth graze my sensitive flesh. His hands are wandering all over my body, feeling all of my curves and skin, but when his fingers brush just underneath the hem of my shirt right where my scars are, my eyes shoot open.
My lips stop moving.
My heart stops beating.
My lungs stop fighting.
I’m dying.
Remember why you died, Avery?
Remember what it felt like to be betrayed.
Abandoned.
“Wait, stop,” I whisper, sounding breathless, almost choked. “I can’t do this.” Even though it’s just a whisper, it’s enough to snap us both back to reality.
Tristan’s eyelids lift and our gazes collide. A beat of silence goes by before he releases me and shuffles back. It feels like I should be happier about my decision but I just feel miserable. The misery only amplifies when Tristan moves back into the moonlight and I get a glimpse of internal agony in his eyes. Whether it’s because of my rejection or something else, I’ll never know. Because he turns away from me and jogs off down the alleyway without saying another word, leaving me in the dark beneath the stars, questioning if I made the right decision. It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way. In fact, it feels wrong.
Everything feels wrong.
I glance up at the stars, searching for an answer, but all they seem to say is: Wake up, Avery. Wake up and open your eyes.
The problem is, my eyes are fully open and I can’t see a damn thing.
A little over five years earlier….
Chapter 12
Welcome to reality.
Avery
My dad was right. I am a dreamer like him. I used to dream lots of things, when I was asleep, and when I was awake sometimes. The last six months with Conner had felt like a dream. But now, it’s starting to feel like a nightmare. And unlike my father, I can’t run away from it.
It started out all kisses and touches and passion and love, a wonderful escape from the reality of my life. But I should have been smarter. I knew better than to think life was a dream. And just like all dreams do, mine has come to an end.
I woke up.
“I feel like I’m going to throw up again,” I mumble as I sit down on the cold kitchen floor and cradle my stomach with my arm. “And I don’t even know how it’s possible since my stomach is pretty much empty from the last time I threw up.”
Conner peers over his shoulder at me. “Well, at least you got that whole glowing look going for you.”
I frown as I slouch back against the cupboard and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Gee, thanks.” I sigh tiredly and shut my eyes, wishing I could just go to sleep.
“So, what do you think?” Conner asks and I hear him shut a cupboard. “Is this place the one?”
I force my eyes open and glance around at the distressed kitchen counters, the chipped tile floor, and the blinding yellow countertops that match the trimming of the entire apartment. “It’s kind of old and rundown, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but it’s only temporary until I get promoted, which should happen soon.” He crouches down in front of me, all smiles and happiness. I don’t know how the hell he does it—how he manages to be so happy when everything around us is spinning in chaos and uncertainty. Just under seventeen years old and I’m having a baby. In just over six months, I’ll be responsible for another human being yet I won’t even be at legal drinking age.
“Maybe you could sell one of your cars,” I suggest. I’ve always dreamed of living in a nice house with walls that weren’t stained with the residue of meth, and the rooms untainted with dark memories. I’ve dreamed of having a house that has a roof that doesn’t leak, a place that I could call my own.
But I’ve also dreamed of going to college when I turned eighteen. Getting a career. Finally being on my own. And that dream is looking pretty bleak right now.
“I can’t do that. Those cars mean a lot to me, Avery,” he says, his smile fading for the briefest moment, but it happens so quickly I can barely regi
ster it, let alone process the meaning behind it.
“I thought I meant everything to you.” I blame my weakness on my hormones but really part of it stems from the fear of being alone, pregnant, and living in that God-awful house with my mother.
He sighs. “Look, I promise things will get better just as soon as I get promoted. And if they don’t, the cars will go.”
“Okay, but”—I slowly inhale as another bout of nausea hits me—“what about Jax? I can’t just leave him.”
Conner’s happiness falters. “Av, as much as I love Jax, I don’t think we can have him live with us.” When I frown, he cups my face in his hands. “At least not until we get on our own feet. Maybe after the baby comes and we get the balance of being parents.”
I’m on the verge of bawling. “But what if I can’t?”
“What if you can’t what?”
“Find a balance.” Hot tears downpour from my eyes. “I mean, I’ve never had an actual mother to observe and what if… I suck. You’re lucky. You have a mom who showed you how the whole parenting thing works.”
“You won’t suck,” he promises as he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me. “This is all going to work out. Things will be perfect. You’ll see.”
Sometimes I wonder if he really sees though. Ever since the day I told him I was pregnant, he’s been nothing except positive and happy about it to the point where I question if he really understands what’s going on, if he can see the bigger picture. That everything is going to change—that the days of having fun and staying out all night are gone.
That our dreamer days are over.
Gone.
“Yeah, okay.” Vomit burns at the back of my throat seconds later. I spring to my feet, shoving him out of the way as I rush for the bathroom. I’ve been this way for the last month and I’m getting sick of it. I did some searching online and found out that it could keep going on like this for the entire first trimester.
I puke my guts out for the next couple of minutes then lie down on the floor and press my overheated cheek to the cool linoleum. I’m not sure how long I stay that way, but it’s long enough that I expect Conner to come in and check on me. But after a lot of time drifts by and he doesn’t, I finally drag my ass back to the kitchen where he’s sitting on the cupboard, texting.
“Hey, are you doing okay?” he asks, preoccupied by his phone.
I nod as I cross the kitchen to him. “Yeah, but I can’t wait until this whole morning sickness thing wears off.”
He punches a few more buttons then puts the away and hops off the counter. “Me too,” he agrees, taking my hand. “I have an idea though, that might get your mind off it.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask with interest. “And what’s that?”
“There’s a party going on at the college that I got invited to. We should go.”
I frown and slip my hand out of his. “Conner, I don’t want to go to a party. The smell of alcohol alone will make me puke even when I’m not pregnant.”
Now he’s frowning.
Over the last two months, Conner has made a habit of going to a lot of parties. I try to tell myself that it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m pregnant and that he’s trying to grasp on to what little adolescence he has left.
“Come on, Avery,” he begs. “We always used to have fun at parties while being sober.”
I place my hand on my stomach. “And I used to not be pregnant.”
He’s livid, maybe more than I’ve ever seen him. For a second, the sweet boy that talked me into dating him no longer exists. “You say that like it’s my fault.”
“Well, it does take two people to create a baby.”
“You should have been on birth control,” he snaps.
“And maybe you should have worn a condom,” I retort, backing toward the front door. “Don’t pretend like this is my fault—it’s both of ours.”
“Whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on me. “I’m not even sure if it’s mine.”
I want to shout at him. I should shout at him. Conner is the only guy I’ve ever had sex with and he knows it. He’s acting like a child and it puts even more doubt in my head that we’ll be able to handle this whole parent thing.
“Fuck you,” I manage to get out before I leave the apartment in tears.
I ride the bus home where a full-blown party is going on. I try to rush up the stairs and ignore the noise, but my mother’s still sober enough that she corners me at the stairway.
“Where have you been?” she asks, puffing on a cigarette. She looks twenty years past her age—wrinkly, sagging skin, and a body that’s falling apart—yet she dresses like she’s my age.
“Out with Conner.” I move to step around her, but she sidesteps in front of me and obstructs my path. The bitter scent of tequila flows off her breath and I know I’m in for a world of hurt. As much as I loathe myself for thinking it, I prefer my druggie, passed out mother over the drunk, chatty one.
“That guy friend of yours?” she wonders with a slur to her speech.
“No, my boyfriend for months now.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts.” She eyeballs my stomach. “After the baby comes.”
I told my mother out of courtesy that I’m pregnant. Her response was to laugh at me and tell me how she’s not surprised and good luck with that. That was it. There was no offer to help. No words of encouragement. No nothing. And I hadn’t expected any more from her. After all, I’ve been taking care of myself for as long as I can recollect. But it did make me painfully aware of how alone I really am without Conner. I hate how vulnerable I feel, but can’t shut off my emotions as well as I used to.
Maybe I overreacted with the party thing.
“Leave me alone.” When I step for the stairs this time, she moves out of my way, but her laughter chases after me as I sprint up the stairway.
Once I lock myself in my bedroom, I try to shake off her words but they linger inside my mind. I decide to send Conner a text before I begin looking for jobs in the newspaper. I already have a job waitressing at Delly’s Good Time Diner, although I’m not sure how long that’s going to last once I start showing and my feet start swelling. My boss is already having issues with my morning sickness.
The jobs are pretty slim around here but I circle a couple that I’ll apply for. It’s getting late so I change into my pajamas and climb into bed then check my phone for messages. I try not to be upset that Conner hasn’t called or texted, but I end up crying my eyes out with the sound of my mother’s stereo tormenting me. It goes on most of the night and somewhere in the late hours, a sleepy Jax wanders into my room and curls up next to me. I should go downstairs and turn off the music—I’m sure everyone’s passed out by now anyway. But I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll see my future staring back at me in the form of my mother. Single, a druggie/alcoholic, who is incapable of being a mother. All alone and bitter.
I end up pathetically begging for Conner to come back to me, sending him text after text. Then I lie in my bed and bawl soundlessly into my pillow until I pass out from exhaustion. By the time I wake up, the sun has risen, the stars are asleep, and Conner is in my room.
“I love you, Avery,” he says as he kneels down beside my bed.
He’s still wearing the shirt and shorts he had on yesterday, but I try not to question too much, try to pretend that everything is as okay as it was the day we first met.
“I’m sorry, okay? But I’m going to take better care of you. Way better than what you have.” He glances around at the patched up walls of my bedroom and the leaking ceiling before he reaches over a sleeping Jax and places a hand on my stomach. “The both of you.”
His reminder of how much I need him makes it easier to ignore the smell of booze and cigarettes on his breath and the fact that I sent him at least ten texts last night, pleading with him to answer me, yet he never did. It makes it simpler for me to take him back. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to admit the truth to myself. That I am scared. Not jus
t of being alone or being a mother, but scared of everything ahead of me. That fear blinds me from seeing all the horrible and difficult stuff waiting for me in the future.
My reality.
Not my dreams.
Chapter 13
Welcome to your own personal nightmare.
Tristan
Hit.
Wreck Me (Nova #4) Page 13