Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  I push those worries to the far depths of my mind and concentrate on the night ahead as I help Hannah into the elevator. I’m like a kid on Christmas morning, only I’m giving a gift instead of receiving. My chest is filled with this warm glow that fires sparks across my nerves all the way from my ears to my toes. I can’t wait to see Hannah’s face when I pull off her mask. My heart tells me this place will be special for her, will do something special for her. It’s something I’ve always known, without even asking.

  The elevator softly dings and Hannah holds up her finger, opening her mouth as if that’s another clue. She relents quickly.

  “Okay, yeah. I’ve got nothing.”

  “I know you don’t. I’m pretty sure I’m going to completely blow your mind,” I brag. Our guide waits in a small chair by the elevator and nods to me that it’s okay to continue on my own.

  I weave us through a few of the displays to the very center of the most important room in this place. The air is practically sterile, but the place is kept cool and the air conditioning is beading the skin on her arms. I pull my jacket off and drape it over her shoulders. She holds on to it and turns her head, unsure where I’ve gone. Her lost smile is precious.

  “Thank you,” she hums. She turns slowly, all of her senses working to figure things out before I reveal it.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nods, freezing in place. I step up so I’m square with her and take one final breath, exhaling a few of my nerves. My hands move to the blindfold and I follow the fabric to the back of her head, untying it carefully so not to mess up her hair. She blinks rapidly as I let the material fall away and it takes her a moment to let her eyes adjust. First, she’s staring at me, her mouth caught in a wondrous smile that hasn’t really resonated with what her eyes are about to see. The moment it does, though . . . I’ve never been as privileged as I am right now watching Hannah soak in the world in which I’ve always known she belongs.

  “Dustin.” Her voice breaks at saying my name, and my chest cracks open. I did right by her.

  Rembrandts to the left. Monet to the right. But it’s the paintings directly ahead that dazzle her. She had a few Van Gogh prints in her bedroom growing up. I assume they went with her to college. She’s always drawn, and I remember seeing her book of sketches and small doodles she brought to the face painting booth when we helped out her mom. She’s mentioned studying art over our lives together, and nobody has ever taken her seriously. Art is her passion as much as racing is mine.

  She bends down and cups her knees, laughing out once with tears pricking the corners of her eyes. I step to the side and hold my hand to my chin.

  “Did I do good?”

  She flits her gaze to me, her mouth still caught in intoxicated surprise. I smile behind my palm as I just watch in silence.

  “Dustin,” she says, making a slow turn where she stands.

  The art museum is closed. It closes early during the week in the summer. I’m not sure Hannah’s ever even been. Tommy and I came here during a field trip our freshman year and we were too dumb to appreciate it. We liked that we got out of class and sat in the back of the bus with the popular girls for the hour-long road trip. I’ve always thought seeing this place through Hannah’s eyes would be different. I was right. Seeing these works, hundreds of years old yet timeless, reflected in the absolute elation shining in Hannah’s eyes is life-altering. I aspire to feel the way I believe she does right now.

  “It’s our place for the night. There’s dinner too. On the patio in the atrium. It’s takeout from the Italian place next door, so not quite lobster or steak, but—”

  “It’s perfect,” she says, throwing her arms around me and covering my lips in the cherry red of her lipstick. I’ll wear it with pride. I swing her around and keep her in my arms when I set her down, walking her toward the famous piece of the sunflower. I don’t know much about art, other than the commercial pieces I’ve seen in other places. I want her to tell me about everything in this place, as I’m sure she can.

  “How did you know?”

  I feel her eyes on me before I turn to meet her gaze. I stare at her silently for several seconds, touching her face with the back of my hand and tracing the curve of her jaw as my gaze flits to her red-smudged lips. My lip ticks up on one side as I erase the stray red from her skin with my thumb.

  “I just knew,” I finally say, shifting my gaze back to meet hers.

  In life, people are lucky to experience once that feeling of completely and utterly falling in love. I’ve had the honor of feeling it three times, each with the same girl. The first when Hannah held me in her arms, away from everyone’s prying eyes, behind a trailer at the Tucson track just after Colt ruined my race. The second, the moment she said those words to me, right before I left her sleeping on her parents’ couch.

  The third? Right this second. And every second that follows. There is something so powerful about seeing the one you love thrive in their environment, grow in the world in which they were meant to be—to see them belong. Hannah belongs in a world like this, and I do everything I can to give it to her.

  “I have something for you,” I say, bringing her wandering gaze back to me.

  I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket for the well-worn yellow shirt that belongs to her. I folded it into a square, so it takes her a moment to unravel it when I hand it to her. Her eyes recognize it quickly.

  “I’ve been searching for this thing,” she scolds playfully.

  I shrug, guilty as charged.

  “I took it with me the night I left. I wanted something to keep you alive in my memory, in case . . .” I look down at the ground between us and sink my hands into my pockets. It’s suddenly harder to breathe. I can’t say the words out loud, but I took it in case I never saw her again. It lost her scent years ago. I never washed it, and I kept it under my pillow most nights in Oklahoma. I brought it with me when I came home, hoping it would give me strength.

  No, that’s a lie.

  I brought it hoping a time would come, that fate would give me a shot. I wanted to be able to give it back to her. I wanted a moment like this.

  “I love it even more now,” she says.

  “I love you,” I blurt out, afraid if I hold back I’ll never be able to get the words out at all.

  My terrified eyes blink wildly, unable to focus. I’ve never said those words to anyone, not that I can remember. I’m sure I probably uttered them to my fake mom as a toddler who didn’t know how bad his life really was. Of my own volition, though? Never. Not for anyone to hear. I practiced saying them to Hannah in the open air. I said them in my prayers that I figured nobody heard.

  And I said them right now.

  “Dustin, you know I love you. Always have,” she says, suddenly in front of me, her hands on my face. “You’re trembling.”

  I stutter out a laugh.

  “Guess I am.”

  She has to pry my hands from my pockets, and I let her guide them to her face. The numbness dissipates at one touch of her soft skin. I fall into her eyes, light blue like the brightest day of the year.

  “I love you, Hannah Judge. So fucking much,” I choke out.

  Before I can fall apart more, she lifts up on her toes and kisses me. My lips are caught in this weird state, somewhere between an elated cry and bliss. She holds her kiss to me tight, her lips parting around my bottom one, her tongue brushing against it, awakening my frozen nerves. I come alive at her taste, my hands growing stronger, slipping back into her hair, my thumbs brushing along her cheek while I tilt her head to one side to kiss her the way I want to—the way I need to.

  It takes a less than subtle cough to remind me we aren’t fully alone, and our lips cling desperately as we part, stopping to breathe with our foreheads together.

  “I forgot he was here,” I whisper laugh.

  “Me, too.”

  My arms wrap around her and I hold her to me, swallowing her up in my one good suit.

  “How about dinner,
and then maybe you can give me a tour?” I kiss the top of her head, then spin her to my side, my hand never leaving her body. I won’t break this touch until I have to.

  “I’d love that.”

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  20

  We ate dinner on a blanket-covered bench in the middle of the art museum’s garden. The perfect square of clear sky above us was speckled with bright stars, the sky clear enough and black without the moon, allowing us to see the universe’s crystals despite the city’s bright lights that surround us.

  I saw Dustin slip the guard a roll of money, at least three hundred dollars. He doesn’t have that kind of money to spend on me, but the fact he wanted to, that he did anyway? My heart squeezes with his love and aches that I can’t rush this life forward so he can feel the success I know is coming for him.

  I don’t want to rush, though. I want to slow down. I want to experience every second, every breath, and note it in my heart and mind so I never forget them.

  Dustin couldn’t possibly have known how deep this gesture would reach. I let our time at the museum be without adding any of my chaos to it. I didn’t want to ruin the beauty of him giving me this gift, of sharing the weird things I know about Van Gogh with him while I make him look at paintings for long, silent minutes. He never once rushed. In fact, I had to urge him to leave. I felt bad when I noticed the guard, who we learned was named Marcus, start to yawn.

  Dustin let me drive home, which meant I could veer off course if I wanted to, which I did. I followed Central all the way up the mountain to the south of the city. When we were kids, my dad used to take the three of us up here on our way home from races. We liked watching the planes take off from a viewpoint up above. That view is more spectacular at night, and I wasn’t done sharing this one with Dustin.

  “I bet those curves are wicked fun in this car during the daytime,” I say as I roll us into a quiet, secluded pull-off just below the flashing radio towers.

  “Daylight being the key word there.” He chuckles, unbuckling as I kill the engine. He leaves the car and I join him at the front, and we both slide up to sit on the hood.

  I love that neither of us are nervous at the thought of zipping through these jagged rocks at tops speeds. I pushed it as it was in the dark, and Dustin never once gripped the dash. His body remained relaxed, his eyes scanning the road for interesting things to point out in the dark, like the wild donkey grazing in a ravine lit up by our headlights.

  “I did a thing that I haven’t told anyone about,” I confess.

  He leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder, lips dusting my skin as he tilts his head enough to look up at me.

  “I know you did,” he teases.

  I lean into him, straightening him up.

  “Not that, silly. And sorry to tell you this, but Bailey gets a lot of details.”

  His eyes widen as he swallows.

  “Oh-kayyy.” If it weren’t so dark, I might catch him blushing.

  His feet stretch out and he tugs the tie loose from his shirt. His jacket was long ago discarded to the back seat, the air plenty warm.

  “What is this thing you did, Banana?”

  I pucker my lips and turn to face him.

  “Did I ever tell you how much I love it when you call me that? Just you; not Tommy.”

  He leans forward and dusts his nose on mine.

  “Noted, and very sweet. But quit stalling.” He winks and leans his weight on his right palm so he can give me his full attention.

  I draw in a heavy breath, then fold my legs up so I can turn to face him.

  “There’s this apprenticeship at this really amazing studio. It’s led by this really amazing teacher, and you learn everything from textiles to interactive digital things, and there’s painting, and immersive workshops, and—”

  He turns to face me and grabs my shoulders. Our eyes lock, and I’m relieved to see his wide smile.

  “Slow down, Captain Excitement. Breathe.” We draw in a slow breath together and I let out my nervous energy with a laugh.

  “Right. Sorry. Anyhow.” I pause, looking down at my hands as I knead them together. “I applied.”

  I lift my head and tilt it to look at him sideways. I haven’t said a word about this to Bailey or my parents or Tommy. I did it as a dare to myself a few months ago. I’d just come back to school after spring break and a series of epic fights with my mother about my future. It was a rebel move, and I never thought in a million years—

  “I got in.”

  I suck in my lips and hold my breath.

  Dustin shifts to his knees and braces himself on my shoulders again, shaking me gently, his face marked by his deep dimples and high brow. His perfect hair slicked back with a few loose strands fallen over his forehead so he could match our perfect night.

  “Hannah! That’s incredible!” He looks up to smile at the sky, and I could cry it feels so relieving to see someone this proud of me.

  “Thing is, I can’t go,” I stammer.

  He sinks back down to his haunches and his chin falls to his chest, his mouth open.

  “Why?”

  I lift a shoulder.

  “It’s really expensive. And it’s art, so, you know—”

  “Not business.” He rolls his eyes. He’s seen this debate play out lots of times at my house. Tommy was good, accepting the path printed for him, but I always pushed back against it.

  “The art school is actually twice the cost, but with the apprenticeship, my tuition would be cut in half, and I’d work to cover the rest.”

  “So what’s the problem?” His eyes are searching mine, and it cuts me inside just thinking about it.

  “It’s in Omaha, Dustin. Away from everyone. From you.”

  Our chests rise and fall as that reality settles into the space and we accept it. After several quiet seconds, Dustin leans forward and cups my cheeks, tipping my head down so he can kiss the top of it.

  “So what,” he says, falling back.

  I laugh out loud.

  “So I’ll be far away, from everyone. And I can’t pay for it anyway, not even the half that will be left, and—”

  “So what?” He repeats those two words as if some solution has miraculously unearthed. My chest tightens at all of the unanswered strands that go along with me taking a leap that big. It’s one thing to come home for the summers and drive fast out in the desert. It’s even not the same kind of risk as leaping from cliffs into icy cold water. This is about my identity, my other true love and going for it.

  “What if I fail?”

  “You won’t.” He’s so matter of fact. I blink at him slowly.

  “I love you.” A soft smile plays at my lips and I decide to tuck this conversation back inside, leaving myself with this slice of time where Dustin believes in me so unequivocally that even the most obvious and challenging, real obstacles seem to melt when I look at the world through his eyes.

  “I love you,” he says, and the words come easier to him than before. They wrap around my heart and pull me close.

  I don’t tell him that the deadline passed. That they’ve already given the spot to someone else. That the day I had to decide was the day we sprinkled Colts ashes in the desert and he got the news he’d been dreaming of. The day we kissed in the middle of the road. The day I chose Dustin Bridges over my dreams, not that I was really going to take my shot. But that window was open, if only briefly, and I let it close the minute his lips hit mine.

  My hand curves behind his neck and I pull him near as I shift to my back and slide down the length of the windshield and hood. I bring him with me, our mouths a fraction apart, our smiles locked in this almost pose, the chemistry palpable.

  “You said something about me breaking my best time this morning,” he reminds me.

  I smile and let my head rest completely against the glass.

  “I did,” I say, pulling on the end of the loose knot tied between my breasts, unwinding the woven rope from the soft cott
on. Once it’s completely free from the material, I toss it to the side and turn my attention to Dustin’s tie.

  “It’s not quite the grandstands, but I guess this will do,” he jokes. We’re under a moonless sky of stars, glitter on the ground far below as the city buzzes with the creatures of the night. Planes float by in the distance and the desert embraces us, not another car in sight.

  I slip his tie free from the collar of his white shirt, my fingers working the buttons free one at a time as he drops his head to my chest so his teeth can grip the cotton fold that covers my right breast. He slides it to the side with his mouth, his nose grazing against my hard nipple just as I reach the last of his buttons.

  “Ahh,” I cry out, arching into him.

  He works his shirt from his arms as his mouth searches for my ripe breast. His mouth covers it completely, his tongue swirling around my pink bud before he sucks it raw and turns his attention to the other one. I hold his head to me, wanting him to devour me, and as he trails his kisses lower and lower, I let him.

  “My God, Hannah, but you are sweet,” he says, lifting the skirt of my dress and pressing his mouth to my inner thigh.

  “How sweet?” I bite my knuckle as I look down at him, my knees falling open. He presses his mouth to my center over the cotton strip of my panties and speaks with his mouth against me, sending vibrations through my core.

  “So fucking sweet,” he says.

  My legs start to close around his head, but his hands slide along my inner thighs and keep them open. He kisses me through my panties at first, eventually sliding them to the side and running his tongue along my swollen center. I writhe and moan, thankful we’re secluded and alone. I lift my hips so he can slide my panties down my hips and thighs, eventually tossing them to the ground along with the rope from my dress.

  “Dustin,” I cry out his name.

  His tongue enters me and I lean my head so far back I can see the radio towers blinking far above us. His thumb presses where I crave him and his tongue moves in slow, measured swipes along my wet, tender skin, bringing me near climax before stopping.