“I got out,” Devon grumbled, struggling to keep his voice even.
“How long is that going to last?” Annie scoffed.
“I’m not going back.” The words came out sharp, matter of fact.
“Ha.” Annie guffawed. “That’s rich. You’ve been nothing but a pain in everyone’s ass since the day you were born. Don’t see that changing now.”
Devon shifted his weight. He did his best to mask his feelings behind a stone exterior, but I saw his eyes glistening. Stepping toward him, I put my hand on his arm.
“Don’t.” He jerked away. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
He picked up his guitar case and stomped to the door. I glanced at the woman standing next to the entertainment center before I followed him outside. No wonder Devon never talks about you. You’ve got to be the worst mother on the planet.
Devon didn’t say anything as he walked across the yard to his truck. Opening the door, he moved the seat forward to tuck his guitar behind it.
I wanted to offer him sympathy. “Devon, I—”
“I’m fine,” he growled. “Just get in.”
I hurried to the passenger side, opened the door, and climbed into the truck. As soon as I’d shut the door, Devon backed out of Lia’s driveway, and took off down the street. At the stop sign, he turned right instead of going back to Main. He drove to the end of the street and into a gas station. I watched as he walked in, returning about five minutes later with a six pack of longneck bottles and an unopened pack of cigarettes.
“How did you buy that?” I asked, pointing to the beer he placed on the floorboard.
“With money,” he snapped.
“That’s not what I mean. I thought you had to be twenty-one to buy beer.”
“You do. I have a fake ID.”
“Oh.”
I sat back in the seat, biting my bottom lip. As we drove out of town, he leaned across me to retrieve a bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he took a long drink before nestling it between his legs and picking up the fresh pack of cigarettes. I hoped the tobacco would relax him, but he remained tense, staring out the windshield as if he’d explode at any moment.
Thirteen
Devon didn’t go back to Chase’s trailer like I assumed he would. We ended up driving down random country roads until only one beer remained in the six-pack. I resisted the impulse to ask him about his mom and what had happened at Lia’s. Annie was nothing like the woman I’d envisioned in my head. I’d always imagined Devon’s mom as someone who could be on the cover of a magazine, not an emaciated junkie.
A lone tear slipped from Devon’s eye. “Damn it.” He smacked his palm against the steering wheel as he pulled to the side of the road and stopped. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He hit the wheel with each exclamation before opening the door and sliding out of the truck.
The loud bang of the door slamming made me jump. I watched through the windows as he drank the last of his six beers and hurled the empty bottle at a sign. The brown glass shattered. Putting his hands against the bed of the truck, Devon stared across the field. I wanted to get out of the truck and comfort him, but I hesitated. If I tried to help, it might backfire like it had the day he’d come back. But if I didn’t, what kind of girlfriend would I be?
I opened the passenger door, dropped into the grass, walked around the back of the truck, and cautiously touched his shoulder. He didn’t move. I started to ask if he was okay, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Obviously, he’s not okay. How could he be? Taking a slow breath, I moved my hand to his back. Maybe just stand here. Show him you’re here for him if he needs you but you won’t pry. He hates when you pry.
“You’d assume I’d be used to it by now,” he said.
Surprised that he spoke first, I didn’t respond immediately. I cleared my throat and forced out the words, “Used to what?”
“Her.” He took a breath to steady his voice. “Every time I see her I think it’ll be different. How ludicrous is that?”
“It’s not.”
“I fucking hate her.” Devon crossed his arms on the side of the truck bed and put his forehead against them. “Fuck.” He turned his face away from me. “Tori, can you get back in the truck?” His voice faltered. “Please.”
“No.” Taking a step forward, I put my arms around him and lay my head against his back. “I’m not leaving you.”
His slow, deep breaths wavered.
I tightened my hold, kissing his back and trying not to cry myself. Keep it together, Tori. What good will it do if you lose it? Show him you can handle this.
“She’s wrong, Devon,” I said. “You’re not worthless. You’re wonderful.”
“She’s my mother. If my mother thinks . . .”
His voice cracked when he spoke, making it harder to keep my voice steady. “She’s wrong.” I kissed his back again. “She doesn’t know you.”
“Maybe you don’t know me.”
“Devon, I do know you, and you’re not worthless. You matter. To me. And to Carter. And Lia and your nephew.”
“Lia?” He laughed sardonically. “Lia couldn’t give two shits less about me.” Wiping his face, he stood up straight, turned around, and leaned back against the truck.
I let my hands fall to my sides as I stepped back. “That’s not true. She loves you. She told me.”
“She never wanted me living there. My social worker guilted her into it because it was that or a group home. Even then, I had to pay rent and give her money for groceries and stuff.”
My face scrunched. “Social worker? Why do you have a social worker?” The words came out before I could check myself. Dang it, Tori. Not important. You’re supposed to be comforting him, not interrogating him.
“Because technically I’m a foster kid.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“According to you, every thing’s a long story.” What the hell? Stop! Get control of your mouth before you say something really stupid.
Devon looked at me. His damp eyes sparkled in the sunlight, making the blue look even more like an ocean than usual.
“You can tell me,” I said. “I won’t think anything bad about you.”
“I know. I just . . .” He sighed. “I don’t like talking about it.” Reaching in his pocket, he felt around, then patted his other pockets before looking at the cab of the truck.
“Sometimes talking helps.”
“That’s what the counselors in juvie always say.” He laughed dryly.
Devon walked to the open truck window. His upper body disappeared inside. When he stood back up, his cigarettes were in his hand. I waited for him to light one before I asked again.
“Why were you in foster care?”
Taking a slow drag from his cigarette, he looked sideways at me. “This scar”—he touched his index finger to the scar above his left eyebrow—“I was three when I got it. She hit me with a ceramic ashtray because I wouldn’t stop whining.”
My mouth fell open. I’d assumed he gained his scars from fights or other testosterone-driven stupidity, not his mother. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .” I shook my head.
“It’s fine.” He gave me a half-hearted smile. “I’m over it.”
No, you’re not. If you were over it, talking about your childhood wouldn’t bother you so much.
Devon took a slow drag from his cigarette, then dropped it, using the heel of his boot to grind it into the ground before he tossed his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “Come on. Let’s go back to Chase’s and get shit-faced.”
“Okay.” My lips pressed together in a weak smile.
“Hey.” He kissed the top of my head. “It’ll be okay. I’m fine. Promise.”
“You don’t have to pre—”
“I’m not pretending. Another six-pack and I’ll be right as rain.”
His feigned smile didn’t fool me, nor did his assertions that he would be fine. The more he drank that night,
the clearer it became he was nowhere near the vicinity of fine. He laughed and cracked jokes, but his eyes watered now and then as if he could just as easily have cried.
I missed curfew. Too worried to leave Devon, I stayed next to him until he slumped against me on the couch. A loud snore told me he’d reached his limit. Chase helped him to the guest room, and I kissed him goodnight while Carter waited to drive me home.
My house stood dark and quiet. As far as I could tell, Mom and James were asleep. I tiptoed through the front door and up the stairs. Without bothering to undress, I collapsed face first into bed. I didn’t remember my body hitting the mattress before I was asleep.
Fourteen
“Loser.”
“Twerp.”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“What are you two doing?” Mom stomped into the front room with a huff.
“Watching TV,” Chris answered.
“Does watching TV involve calling each other names now?” she asked.
“It’s how we say we love each other. Right, Chris?” I looked at my brother.
“Sure thing, snot face,” Chris replied.
“Puke breath.”
“Well, stop,” Mom said.
“Short stack.” Chris ignored our mother.
“Neanderthal,” I replied.
“Twit.”
“Punk.”
“I said, ‘Stop.’” Mom repeated. “You two don’t need to be calling each other names. Why don’t you find something more . . . productive to do with your time?”
“It’s summer, Mom,” Chris said. “Nobody wants to be productive in the summer.”
“Believe it or not, Christian, lots of people are productive in the summer,” Mom replied. “There are even kids with something called summer jobs.”
Chris shuddered. “No, thanks.”
“Besides, we are being productive.” I pushed myself to the back of the sofa and sat up straighter. “We’re learning all about”—I glanced at the television— “the rain forest.”
“Learning’s important, Mom,” Chris added.
Mom shook her head and sighed. “I give up.”
Chris and I chuckled as Mom returned to the kitchen.
“Hey, you want to go check out the carnival?” Chris asked.
I looked at him, surprised by the invitation. “Aren’t you going later with Becky?”
His expression fell. “She’s going with Nick.”
“Is that her new boyfriend?”
“You want to go or not?”
“Sure.” I nodded.
Chris clicked the off button on the remote and stood.
“We’re going to the carnival, Mom,” I called as I joined my brother by the front door. “Be back later.”
“Have fun,” Mom answered.
Chris and I shuffled out the front door and footed it across town to the park. James had confiscated Chris’ car after Chris missed curfew. It was parked in the garage with an anti-theft lock on the steering wheel, so Chris couldn’t use the spare set of keys to drive it, anyway. The last time James had taken Chris’ car, he’d threatened to sell the jet-black Camaro. Chris snuck out after James and Mom went to bed, used the spare keys to drive his car to his friend’s house, and hid it there until Mom promised she wouldn’t let James sell it.
“Ha!” Chris pointed at me, a huge smile plastered across his face. “Told you I could do it.”
“And it only cost you fifty bucks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Here you go.” The carnival worker plopped a four-foot green alien on the counter. “Thanks for playing.”
“You realize you have to carry that all day now,” I said.
“No, I don’t.” Chris retrieved his prize. “Because I’m going to give it to my favorite little sister.” He shoved the stuffed toy at me.
“Oh, no.” I put my arms out, backed away, and shook my head. “I don’t want it.”
“I see how you are.” Chris scowled.
“You had to have it. You carry it.”
“Fine.”
He tucked the alien under his arm and scanned the carnival. At four-thirty in the afternoon, the only other people were little kids and their parents. The rides didn’t start until after five so Chris and I had spent the hour we’d been there wandering from one overpriced game to another.
“Snow cone?” He poked his elbow toward a blue trolley car.
I nodded. “Snow cone.”
We walked to the trolley and ordered two large snow cones.
“Six dollars,” the small man inside said.
I passed three dollars through the window.
The man counted the bills. “You need three more.”
Chris nudged me.
“What?” I looked up at my brother. “I paid for mine. You can pay for yours yourself.”
“I spent all my money winning this gigantic green alien for my little sister and then she didn’t even want it.” He turned to the man inside the trolley. “Can you believe that?”
The man stared back, straight-faced.
“You owe me.” I took another three dollars out of my purse and passed it through the window.
Chris smiled. “Here. You can have this in return.” He offered me the toy.
“I don’t want that ugly, bug-eyed thing,” I said. “You’re just trying to get out of carrying it.”
“But look.” He stood the alien next to me. “It’s almost the same size as you. It’s kismet.”
I frowned. “You’re not funny.”
“Actually,” the man said. “That is funny.”
Chris bent at the waist laughing. I grabbed the alien, so he didn’t drop it on the ground, rolling my eyes.
“Is that your new boyfriend, Tori?” Miranda Schutt walked up with Camber Flotsam, Kennedy, and the rest of their entourage.
“It’s my brother’s,” I said.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Camber smiled at Chris. “Taking your poor, socially challenged sister to the carnival. It’s such a shame she doesn’t have any friends.”
“It’s a shame you’re such a bitch,” Chris retorted.
Camber drew back, her face contorting into a vicious scowl. “You’re not as hot as you think you are, Chris Douglas. You’re just another loser pothead.”
“No, he’s not,” Kennedy said and, from the look of terror on her face afterward, I guessed she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Camber rolled her eyes to Kennedy. “What was that?”
Kennedy’s shoulders slumped. She looked at the ground, her voice barely more than a whisper when she answered, “Chris isn’t a pothead.”
“You know what, Kennedy?” Camber clicked her tongue. “Maybe you aren’t as cool as we thought.”
Camber, Miranda, and the others sauntered away, leaving Kennedy. After they’d gone, Kennedy raised her eyes. I knew what she wanted when she looked at me, but I didn’t give it to her. She’d have to do more than stick up to Camber to win back my trust.
“Two snow cones,” the man inside the trolley said.
I turned, grabbed my snow cone, and walked away. Lugging a four-foot tall alien made a dramatic exit impossible, but I did the best I could. I knew Kennedy would get the idea. I had no intention of talking to her.
“What’s that about?” Chris asked when he caught up with me. “Are you and Kenn not friends anymore?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“What happened there?”
“She told Devon I slept with Carter, so he’d break up with me.”
Chris’ eyebrows raised. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” I bit into the side of my snow cone. “Some friend, huh?”
“Seems like she’s trying to make up for it.”
“That?” I glanced back at the snow cone trolley. “That didn’t really have anything to do with me. She’s had a crush on you since sixth grade.”
“Really?” Chris scrunched his face.
“Yep. So, I guess if you can’t have one of the Phill
ips sisters, there’s always the other one.”
“Okay.” He paused his gait and grabbed my arm. “First off, I’m not in love with Beck. You can stop trying to peddle that nonsense. And second, Kenn isn’t even on my radar. It’d be like dating my . . . third sister.” He shuddered. “Gross.”
“You are so full of crap.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, let’s see,” I said. “First off, you are in love with Becky. You’re just too stupid to realize it. And second, if Kenn wasn’t Becky’s little sister, she’d definitely be on your radar because she’s a girl.”
“You think I’d be interested in Kenn just because she’s a girl?”
“I’ve met your girlfriends, Chris. Being a girl seems to be the only perquisite.”
“There are lots of girls I don’t want to go out with.”
“Really?” I cocked my eyebrow.
“Yes, really,” he said.
“All right, so if we got home and . . . Louisa Wolfram was in your room, butt naked, you’d be all, ‘No, because you’re not pretty enough’? I doubt it.”
“Louisa Wolfram is hot.”
“She’s orange, Chris. Orange.”
“So, she goes a little heavy on the spray tan. She’s still hot.”
“Why don’t you ask her out then?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want to go out with her,” Chris answered.
“But you think she’s hot.”
“And? There’s more to liking somebody than thinking they’re hot.”
“If you say so.”
“Is that the only thing you like about Devon? That you think he’s hot?”
I paused. I’d been thinking more about Chris’ girlfriends being pretty but lacking brains. “No. That’s not the only reason I like Devon.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I like Devon because he listens to me. He doesn’t think I’m stupid or annoying. He makes me feel like I matter. Like somebody loves me no matter what I do wrong.”
Chris sighed. “That’s how I feel with Beck.”
I turned to my brother in slow motion, a grin stretching across my face. “I knew you were in love with Becky. I knew it.” I laughed. “All this time, you’ve been saying you’re not, but I knew it.”
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 8