Wreck (Fuel Series Book 2)

by Ginger Scott

  “Right,” I hum. My mouth hangs open and my eyes can no longer blink.

  My parents . . . paid Dustin to leave? And he accepted it?

  “Anyway, I’m glad it all worked out.”

  My mom says something else that I don’t hear because the bathroom door closes behind me. My ears are closing up, the whoosh of blood rushing over my ear drums at a steady pace to match my stride.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, sliding behind the chairs to get to my seat to grab my purse. I look down at Dustin, the king sitting in his throne, and wait for the look on my face to resonate with him.

  “We’re leaving. Now.” I hold his gaze for a breath, then slip behind him before he has a chance to question my reasoning.

  “Dad, I have to run. Thank you for dinner. I’ll see you later. Tommy, we’ll talk.” My brother and father hold up a hand and nod as I leave. They’re too involved in having a good time. My mom is probably still fumbling her way out of the bathroom. I don’t slow to see whether Dustin is following me or not. I’m not sure I want him to. What comes next? It’s going to hurt. There is no way for it not to.

  I press the fob and unlock the Supra, getting in the driver’s seat and cranking the engine. I check the mirror and see Dustin scanning the parking lot several yards behind me. His gaze lands on the car and he skips from the curb and slowly jogs my way in his slick pants and slick jacket, ready with his slick lies.

  The door opens and the air that rushes in bursts my protective bubble. I clamp my teeth down.

  “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

  He shuts his door.

  “Yep,” I respond. I give the lot a quick glance in the rearview then pop the gear into reverse, peeling out backward and hammering into drive. We dip through the curve and I fishtail a little when I enter the street.

  “Slow down there, speed racer,” he jokes, steadying himself by pressing his fingertips to his window.

  I don’t have words for him, and the longer we drive in silence, the more rigid his body becomes in the seat next to me. It takes him five miles to speak.

  “This is about Alex,” he says.

  My eyes flutter closed and a short laugh blows from my nose.

  “Sure. It’s about Alex,” I say.

  I’m that girl he left behind. I’m an idiot for ever letting her go. She never would have let this happen. She would have seen it coming.

  “Han, I can explain.”

  “Can you?” My tone is clipped, and he sighs in response.

  That sound, his breath exhaling, his exasperation—it grasps hold of my body, and my only response is to pull to the side of the road and get out of the car.

  “Hannah! What the fuck!”

  I march down the middle of the street in the center of East Phoenix, Mercedes and BMWs honking as rich couples swerve to miss me. I don’t even know where I’m walking to, I only know that I need to walk.

  After several seconds, the Supra rumbles up next to me. Dustin reaches out the window and brushes my arm with his hand.

  “Let’s talk. Let me explain, Hannah. Come on!”

  I stop hard and place my palms on my hips as I look up at the hazy sky. The city is too tainted with light to see any stars. That’s all right, they don’t belong in this moment anyway.

  I lick my lips then bite my bottom lip as I nod. My thoughts are darting and weaving, but my conclusions consistently come out the same. I have to hear him say it, though. I need resolution—conclusion.

  I turn to face him, his expression full of panic, and for a beat, my heart aches with the natural instinct to take care of him. I bury that feeling fast and march to the passenger side of the car.

  “Pull into that lot or something. You’ve been drinking,” I say as I get inside. I slam the door shut and close my posture off to him.

  Dustin nods and drifts to the right side of the road, signaling and pulling up to a closed record shop.

  I don’t expect him to start the conversation, so when he does it takes me by surprise and forces me to turn in my seat to look at him.

  “Alex was going to buy it out from under me, Han. He was going to move. He texted me that he already had.”

  “And so you what? You called him and said ‘Wait for me’?”

  His brow pulls in tight, and even though those probably weren’t his words, I can tell I came close to hitting the nail on the head.

  “No, I mean, it wasn’t like that.” He’s stammering, and it’s not like him to not know exactly what to say. Dustin isn’t good at lying to me. He doesn’t want to, but he feels he needs to. That’s how I know it’s going to hurt.

  “What was it like?”

  He takes a deep breath and leans back into the driver’s seat, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. That tequila doesn’t seem such a great idea now, I bet.

  “Me and Tommy talked about it, and we’re going to catch him in the act. Tommy’s already figured out who we need to call when we have proof, and he made sure the contract didn’t have a stipulation that would prevent me from buying Alex out.”

  “So you and my brother set up a sting. And you just figured you’d win today and have a flood of money that would get you out of trouble when this deal goes south?” It’s not the first time he’s taken risks with money, actually. Before, his lifestyle dealt with hundreds and thousands. This game plays in the millions.

  “But I knew I would win,” he says, almost laughing through the words. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and lets his head fall to the side so his perfect hazel gaze can hit me.

  I huff out a laugh.

  I have always loved his confidence, but I have never questioned his loyalties before. I knew, no matter what the risk, that Dustin’s heart was in the right. I’m not so sure anymore.

  “Han, you have to believe me.”

  And here it is, the reason why. Do I? Should I? Believing him was a lot easier before my drunk-ass mom blabbed all her secrets in the ladies’ room. It’s always easier to believe someone when you don’t know the lies they’re capable of.

  “Tell me, Dustin. What are you going to do if you find out how much money you can make laundering with Alex? What if it’s thousands?”

  He spits out a laugh.

  “First, it won’t be. And second, fuck that. I’m not about that.”

  I swallow hard, my pride.

  “So, it would take millions, then?”

  His eyes flinch and his lips part, almost as if he’s considering it, but he shakes his head.

  “No, not even millions. Hannah, you’re being nuts. If he goes that direction, he’s out. If not, then nothing to worry about.”

  “So, you wouldn’t sell your soul for a few thousand dollars?”

  He crosses his heart.

  He actually crosses his fucking heart.

  Tears prick the corners of my eyes and my breath quakes with a sharpness as I ready myself for the hardest question of all.

  “Would you sell me? For say . . . ten thousand?”

  The answer is obvious and fast. His jaw drops a tick, flexing at the sides as his lips part and his pupils dilate, his eyes taking in all of me.

  “Would you, Dusty? Would you leave me forever if someone gave you ten thousand dollars?”

  His body shrinks, his weight sinking lower, his head falling into his shoulders. The truth cuts me right down the center and I choke out a single cry.

  “Hannah—”

  “Don’t!” I hold up my hand, swearing him away from me. “Don’t touch me, Dustin. Don’t . . . don’t lie to me. Don’t give me excuses or tell me this is different. I don’t want to know that Alex is different, that he’s worth more. I don’t want to be worth less. I don’t want any of it.”

  I’m no longer able to contain my tears, but I let them cut down my cheeks in silence. Dustin kills the engine and hammers his fist against the steering wheel. I’d give in if the voice in my head wasn’t screaming at me not to. This is all for show. He’s mad he got caught.

  “My dad paid
you to leave me.”

  “I didn’t want the money,” he insists.

  “Then, why did you take it? Why did you go?”

  Red eyes meet mine and his mouth opens without words. He shakes his head as his own tears run down his cheeks.

  “I had no choice, Hannah. It was dangerous.”

  “Bullshit,” I fire back. “You always have a choice.”

  He nods, then turns his focus to the front of the car, leaning forward with both fists resting on the wheel.

  “I choose you,” he says.

  “But you didn’t.” The truth never lines up with his logic. What really happened diverges from what he says, from what he thinks he wants. From what he says he wants.

  “If Alex makes you thousands of dollars, Dustin, you’re going to take it.” I feel sick leveling him with such an allegation. I’m attacking his character. It’s hard not to.

  “I won’t,” he says, shaking his head, his gaze lost to the dark storefront and the neon sign that reads CLOSED.

  “I don’t believe you. I can’t.”

  He punches the steering wheel again, twice, then flings open the door to pace along the sidewalk behind me. I sit in the car and let myself cry. I wring out my tears so when he comes back, they’ll be done. I find the girl he left, and I put that shell on as armor.

  He tugs open my door and kneels on the ground, his hands fisted together in prayer as he falls into my lap.

  “Please, Hannah. I was going to pay your dad back with my winnings. I only wanted to keep you safe.”

  As if owing my dad is the problem here.

  “So you went into bed with a gangster,” I croak.

  He looks up at me, his weight heavy against my thighs. His eyes are so lost, his heart clearly shattered. It’s nothing compared to the thousands of pieces I’ll have to pick up when I leave this place.

  “I want to go home, Dustin. All the way home.” I turn my gaze away from him. I can’t look at him anymore. I’ll get soft and give in.

  “Okay,” he whispers. He stands slowly, dusting the debris from his pant legs as I hold out my hand for the keys. He drops them in my palm and I get out of the seat. He waits outside the car as I move to the driver’s side, and I pause to look him in the eyes above the car.

  “Then what?”

  He knows.

  I know.

  “I’m not like you, Dustin. I won’t leave without telling you. So . . . then, I’m packing my things and I’m leaving. I’m not sure where I’ll go. I don’t want anything to do with my parents. I don’t want anything to do with you. My company? My presence and my love? They aren’t for sale. You got a bill of goods. A real lemon of a deal. But hey, you’ve got your track, and Alex. So enjoy.”

  I manage a tight smile, a smug one that hides the kicking and screaming happening inside.

  “So this is good-bye?” The new Dustin is rearing his head, a look of incredulousness tempting his face. His eyes squint; his lips pucker. I get it. It’s easier to be mad. I was. I still am. But soon? I won’t be. I won’t be anything but whatever I decide. And as painful as this is, that future feels hopeful. There’s light there, at the end.

  It’s just lonely, but I’ve had practice at that.

  “Unless you want to drive a hundred miles to Camp Verde to say it again, yes . . . it is.”

  He blinks at me, his face stoic, eyes suddenly stone cold. His lip sneers and he breathes in through his nostrils as his hands fall to his sides and he looks out at the traffic rushing by.

  “Nah, I’m good. You go on.”

  I nod, my heart breaking but my head telling it to hold on a little while longer.

  “Maybe you can call Alex to come pick you up,” I say, my last words to him—ever. I get in the car and roar the engine to life, wasting no time before backing out and pulling into traffic. I don’t bother looking at him in the mirrors. I don’t want to remember him any way but the awful, cruel way he chose. He did that for a reason, to make this easier for both of us. I have to believe that because the only other option is that his heart is completely black, and I’m not ready yet to write off his soul entirely. I want to wish it well. I want to root for it. I just can’t be there to hold it tight.

  25

  So this is what it feels like to lose.

  Hannah drove off and I sat on the curb in the heat of the Arizona night and fucking cried. I called her. She didn’t pick up. I texted her—too many times. I got angry at her, angry at me, at her father and mother. I thought about killing Alex.

  What was left by the time Hannah’s dad came to pick me up three hours later was a ghost of a man. Unlike me, Hannah has no problem letting people know she’s leaving and not coming back. When she left the record shop parking lot, she called her brother, who was drunk off his ass. He’s lucky because he probably won’t remember the things she said. Neither will her mom.

  Tom, however? He remembers everything.

  “She’ll come around,” he says.

  My forehead hasn’t moved from its resting place on the window. I’ve counted the light poles as we passed each one. One hundred forty-seven.

  One hundred forty-eight.

  “You hear me?” He leans forward toward the steering wheel while stopped at a light. I shrug, my fist in my teeth. It’s the only thing that keeps me from crying.

  “Your wife’s car smells like roses.” It’s making me sick. I guess he couldn’t really drive the whole damn RV here to pick me up.

  Tom sniffs the air and glances around the dash, finding the culprit—a fragrance clip on the air vent. He plucks it off, rolls down the window, and tosses it out.

  “Better?”

  I give him a crooked smile that lasts about half a second.

  “This isn’t about you,” he says. He’s tried to sell me on that line a few times, but I kinda think it is about me. I’m pretty sure it’s only about me.

  “Hannah and her mom have been at each other’s throats for months. It’s been building. She wants to go to some art school. As if that will pay the bills, ya know?”

  I let his critique linger in the cab for too long. My inner voice fights against him, wanting to tell him that she should get to do what she wants, that race car driving is as much a pipe dream yet he seems okay with that. Too much time passes, though, so instead I settle on, “She’s really talented.”

  It takes him a few seconds to respond.

  “She is.”

  At least we agree about that.

  We finally reach the RVs, and despite his efforts to get me to join him in his nicer motorhome, I opt to suffer in the one that brought me here. I’m not much in the mood to talk about anything, especially Alex and the ten grand I still have to pay back to the Judges. It’s the first thing I’m doing when my money comes in.

  “Dustin, listen,” Tom says, stopping me before we part. My defeated body turns slowly to face him, arms sagging at my sides. The back of my shirt is glued to my skin from sweat, my jacket draped at my side, hooked on my finger. I’m just some poor kid playing dress up.

  “You should be celebrating,” he says. “I’m sorry you’re not. You’ve done nothing wrong. This is my mess, and I’ll fix it. Try and focus on that incredible race you won. I’ve never seen anyone drive like that. You, son? You’re the one who’s talented.”

  I raise my lip to try for a smile. Whatever expression I make passes well enough and Tom bids me good night, climbing into his trailer while I head toward mine.

  Tommy’s sleeping in the bed I normally crash in, and Douglas and Ernie are already snoring in theirs. The only thing left is one Hannah slept in, with me most nights. It’s the only place I want to be and the last place I want to be at the same time. I crawl onto the small mattress, ducking my head for the overhead bin that still houses some of her things. The yellow shirt is tucked under the pillow. She’d been sleeping in it. I lay flat and bring it to my nose, inhaling . . . remembering.

  Tom can say I did nothing wrong all he wants, but didn’t I? I keep replayi
ng Hannah’s questions in my head, her anger and accusations. She was so certain with her words. She believed them to her core. If Alex breaks the law but makes me thousands while he’s at it, will I still have the stomach to turn the money down?

  Hannah was right. I’ve thought about it, even if I don’t want to admit it out loud. I’ve even fantasized about letting it ride a while and raking in money. That’s how it is when you’ve never had anything; once you get a taste, it’s hard to go back to hard work that might not pay off. Especially when breaking the rules pays so well and so easily.

  Maybe she’s better off without me.

  Maybe I’m a lot more like Colt than I ever cared to admit.

  The last thing I remember is staring at the stain above my head and practicing all the ways I planned to apologize this morning. I’d get someone to drive me to her house or I’d rent another car. I’ve got a credit from the last one since I turned it in early.

  As the sun flickers against my face through the makeshift curtains Hannah strung up in the side window, I work to open my eyes. My body feels heavy, like a brick. I didn’t drink very much at all, so I know it’s not a hangover. It’s my heart, my fucking broken heart.

  I rub my face and pull my shirt the rest of the way from the waistband of my pants. I can’t believe I slept in this shit. My yawn stretches my mouth wide, the inside cottony. Desperate for water, I roll from the bed and crouch until I’m clear of the low-hanging ceiling. Tommy is sitting on one of the plastic chairs in the kitchen, staring at his coffee.

  “Works better when you drink it,” I say.

  “Uh,” he grunts.

  I pour the rest of the pot into a mug and drag another chair in the space to face him. Unlike my friend, I take a big drink before staring at the steaming surface.

  “Hannah called,” Tommy says.

  “Figured,” I say.

  I take another drink, but he keeps staring at his liquid. We let the silence settle, as uncomfortable as it is.