“Shut it.” Chris half-heartedly pushed me.
The alien knocked me off-balance, but I recovered and turned toward him. “You’re in love with Becky.” I sang the words in a high-pitched voice, the opportunity to razz my brother too good to pass up.
Chris scowled at me. “You tell anybody, you’re dead.”
“As if the universe didn’t already know.”
His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, everybody that knows you already knows you’re in love with Becky. I think the only person who didn’t know was you.”
“Do you think Beck knows?” He gulped.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “You should tell her, anyway.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s Beck. If I tell her and she doesn’t like me like that, it’ll just make things weird between us. How would you feel if Carter suddenly confessed he’s in love with you?”
My face scrunched. “That would be the weirdest thing ever.”
“Exactly.”
I looked up at him. “You don’t think Carter’s in love with me, do you?”
Chris shook his head. “No. He thinks you’re annoying and stupid.”
I frowned, and Chris cracked a smile.
“I don’t know what Carter thinks about you, twerp,” he said. “Why don’t you ask him if you’re worried about it?”
“Well, I wasn’t worried about it until you said something,” I replied.
“I was just using him as an example. I don’t think he’s in love with you. Judging from the way you’re freaking out, though, I think I’m right about not saying anything to Beck. I don’t think I could handle it if she did what you just did.”
“I don’t think she will. You never know, she might say she’s in love with you, too.”
“But she might not.” Chris tossed his snow cone in the nearby trashcan, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked away.
Tossing my cup, I followed him. “Here.” I shoved the alien at him. “You can carry this stupid thing home.”
“Nope. I gave it to you.”
I wrapped my arms around the enormous toy and intentionally tripped over it.
Chris looked at me. “Fine.” He took the toy, tucking it under his arm.
He didn’t say much the entire trek home. I tried everything I could think of to get him to liven up, but nothing worked. He walked with his head between his shoulders, staring at his shoes. After we arrived, he stomped up to his room and turned the stereo on full volume.
“Goddamn it.” James stormed out of the kitchen. “I’ve told that kid and told that kid.”
Mom set her hand on James’ shoulder. “I’ll tell him to turn it down.”
“No. It’s mine now. Bastard can’t listen . . .” James took the stairs two at a time. “Open this door. Now!”
A loud bang followed and the sound of a door slamming into a wall. Chris yelled. James yelled back. I looked at Mom. She stared at the empty staircase, her eyes watering. Something crashed upstairs, and she shuddered. I turned toward the noise. Chris’ stereo speakers bounced onto the landing.
“Fucking asshole!” Chris screamed.
More crashing ensued and shattered glass. From the way it sounded James hadn’t stopped at Chris’ stereo. I turned back to Mom, hoping she would do something, but she didn’t move. She watched the steps until James came down, still huffing. He kicked one of Chris’ speakers. The front flew off and bounced down the stairs.
“I’m done with that fucking kid,” James spat at Mom as he descended the remaining steps. “Call Mark. Tell him to come get the sonofabitch.”
“No.” Mom followed James into the kitchen. “Christian isn’t going anywhere.”
I started up the stairs to check on my brother, but before I made it to the top, he came down. “Are you . . . ?” I asked as he rushed past me. He didn’t stop, continuing out the front door and slamming it behind himself.
My eyes shifted to the kitchen doorway. I expected either James or Mom to check on the door. Neither did. They were both too busy yelling at each other. James wanted Chris gone. Mom didn’t.
“Tori?” Colt’s small voice accompanied a tug on my shirt.
I looked down at my little brother. In the chaos, I’d forgotten the twins were there. They both stood beside me on the stairs, holding hands and looking up at me as if I had the answers.
“It’s okay, guys.” I sat so the three of us were eye level. “Come on. You can come play in my room. I’ve got some new paint with glitter in it.”
“Glitter?” Candy’s eyes lit up. “I love glitter.”
“I know.” I smiled.
“Gross.” Colt stuck out his tongue. “Glitter’s for girls.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to get out the boring paint for you, won’t we?” I ruffled his hair.
Standing, I led the twins up the stairs as our parents waged war in the kitchen. I guided them around the stereo that had been thrown into the hall. The small TV Chris had to play video games lay face down inside his open door beside what remained of his trophy case. Glass and broken trophies cascaded into the hall.
“Careful, guys.” I continued to steer the twins around the debris and into my room.
Neither of them mentioned the mess next door or the shouts coming from downstairs. I spread out a bedsheet on the floor, gave them each a piece of poster board, and opened my paint box. Candy eyed the array of colors in awe while Colt went straight for the olive green. I didn't allow the twins to touch my art supplies, so the two reveled in having free rein of the paint and my room. After he’d gotten bored painting, Colt rifled through my shelves. It bothered me, but I didn’t say a word. They needed a distraction and it wouldn’t take long to put everything back. Chris’ room, on the other hand, would never be the same.
Fifteen
The cloth swept over the smooth guitar body, erasing smudged, oily fingerprints and dirt. Devon’s long fingers moved with gentle care. He handled the guitar as if it would shatter at the slightest overuse of pressure.
“You really love that thing, don’t you?” I asked.
“She’s the reason I learned how to play,” Devon answered.
I arched an eyebrow. “She?”
He looked at me, the corner of his mouth drawn up in a playful smirk. “Yes, she.”
“Does she have a name?” I giggled.
“Clarabelle.”
I wrinkled my brow.
“Mr. Hamilton named her. He never mentioned why he called her Clarabelle, but I figured he had a reason.” Devon lifted the guitar from his lap. The way he looked at it, like he was checking out a woman, made me jealous.
“Who’s Mr. Hamilton? You’ve talked about him before.”
Laying the guitar back across his lap, Devon resumed cleaning it. He didn’t say anything so long, I thought he’d decided not to answer. When he did speak, his voice held a hint of sadness. “I got stuck with the Hamiltons after I got out of juvie the second time.”
“They were foster people?”
He nodded.
“What were they like?” I asked.
“Just people.” Devon half shrugged, studying a spot on the guitar that looked clean but evidently wasn’t.
“Just people?”
“Yeah. They were just people.” He glanced at me. “What do you want me to say?”
“Why did Mr. Hamilton give you his guitar?”
Devon leaned the guitar against the side of the couch, picked up his cigarettes, and slid one from the pack.
“Was it a present?” I asked when he didn’t show any signs he intended to answer my question.
He nodded.
“For your birthday?”
“No.”
“Then for what?”
Devon drew a slow breath through his cigarette. “She was a ‘Welcome to the Family’ present. He gave her to me the day they told me they were going to adopt me.”
My back went rigid
, and I blinked. “The Hamiltons adopted you?”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“They wanted to. Or they said they did.” Hurt and disappointment snuck into his tone despite his efforts to keep his voice flat. He shook his head. “It didn’t work out.”
“Why?” I shifted to sit Indian style facing him.
He flipped the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray. “Part of the adoption process is the parents have to get physicals. When Mrs. Hamilton got hers, they discovered she had stage four melanoma.”
“What’s that?”
“Skin cancer.”
“Oh.”
“After that, the adoption stuff got put on hold.” Devon picked up the pack of cigarettes next to the ashtray, pulled one out, and lit it with the end of the one already in his hand. “The Hamiltons spent all their time doing research and going to different doctors. I felt like I was in the way, so I took off.”
“You just took off?”
He stared at his cigarette and mumbled, “Uh-huh.”
“What happened to Mrs. Hamilton?”
“I don’t know.” Devon picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. “Mr. Hamilton came to the courthouse the first time I got arrested after that, but she wasn’t with him.”
“The first time?” I arched an eyebrow. “How many times have you been arrested?”
“Since I left the Hamiltons or total?” He glanced at me.
“Total.”
“Nine.”
My eyes widened. Nine?! “For what?”
“Different things.” Devon shrugged and took a slow drag from his cigarette.
I decided not to press the subject. Although I doubted anything could change the way I felt about Devon, I didn’t want to find out.
“So where’d you go when you left the Hamiltons?” I asked.
“I stayed with Annie for a couple months, then moved in with A.J.”
“You stayed with Annie? What was that like?”
“About like you’d expect.”
“So horrible?”
“Yep.” He nodded.
I looked at the cabinet dividing the front room from the kitchen. Chase had crowded the shelves with books, toys, and random things like strange-looking dice. “Why do you call your mom ‘Annie’? How come you don’t call her ‘Mom’?”
“Because Lia and A.J. call her ‘Annie’,” Devon answered. “I didn’t realize kids don’t call their parents by their first names until I was in school. Then it sounded weird.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Yep.” He picked at side of his thumb. “So, do I get to ask you a question now?”
“Like what?” I sat up straighter and repositioned my legs.
He raised his eyes. “What’s the deal with your dad?”
Of course, he’d go for the most uncomfortable to answer question. It’s only fair. “What do you mean?”
“Why isn’t he around?”
I sat up straighter, took a slow breath, and willed myself not to get emotional. Talking about my dad hurt, so I avoided the subject most of the time. “He lives in California.” I tried to sound like it was no big deal. “Chris and I used to go out there for the summer, but we stopped a couple years ago.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Chris didn’t want to go anymore, and I didn’t want to go without Chris, so we stopped going.”
“Why didn’t Chris want to go?” Devon asked, and I understood how he felt when I pummeled him with questions: like being interrogated for crimes you didn’t commit, but still got blamed for.
“I don’t know. He got mad at my dad, but he wouldn’t tell me why.” I picked at my fingernail. “Can we not talk about this anymore? It’s bumming me out.”
“Sure.” Devon snuffed his cigarette into the ashtray, picked up his guitar, and popped open the case.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Putting it away.”
“Can you play something for me first? I’ve never heard you play.”
He looked sideways at me. “Anything specific?”
“Nope. I don’t care. Whatever you want.”
Devon pursed his lips, his brow dropping as if he were thinking. “I think I got it.” He twisted, reaching into the guitar case, and pulled out something that looked like the hair clips beauticians used. After clipping it on the long part of the guitar, he ran his fingers across the strings and it made a muted strumming sound. Then he cleared his throat and glanced across the couch at me before dropping his gaze back to the guitar. His fingers plucked the strings near the hole, creating a soft melody I recognized after the first few notes. Landslide had to be my favorite Fleetwood Mac song. How Devon knew, I wasn’t sure. I guessed Carter must have told him.
A smile stretched across my face. “I love this song.”
He looked up at me, grinned, and, without warning, started singing. My mouth fell open. That’s new. I didn’t know he could sing. His voice was low, smooth, had an unexpected twang, and made me want to melt into the couch cushions. Unfortunately, his serenade didn’t go long. He’d barely started when the front door opened. Devon stopped, and the two of us looked at the door as Jake, Jeremiah, and Maimy walked inside.
“Hey, guys.” Maimy smiled.
“Hey,” I replied.
“What’s new?” She flopped into the chair by my end of the couch.
“Nothing,” I grumbled, annoyed with the interruption.
Devon took the clip off his guitar, put both it and the guitar back in the case, and shut the case.
“Why are you putting it away?” Jake asked.
“You should play something.” Maimy sat forward.
“No, thanks.” Devon shook his head, clicked down the clasps, and lifted the case from the coffee table.
Maimy stuck her tongue out at his back as he carried the guitar to the guest room.
“He probably can’t even play.” Jeremiah scoffed.
“He can play,” I said.
“Like we’re going to take your word for it.” Maimy chuckled. “He could totally suck, and you’d be all, ‘He’s great. Oh, isn’t he so wonderful, guys? He’s just the best.’” She batted her eyes as part of her unflattering impersonation of me.
Jake laughed.
Jeremiah snorted like a bull. “Sounds about right.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
“Whatever.” Maimy echoed, mocking my eye roll.
I frowned. You guys are assholes. I stood and walked toward the kitchen, meeting Devon in the doorway.
He put his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “What’s up, baby doll?”
“Nothing.” I sighed.
Spinning me around, he kept me wrapped inside his arms and walked toward his friends. “What are you guys up to tonight?”
“This is it,” Jake said.
“You guys have no lives,” Devon replied.
“Want to play cards?” Jeremiah asked.
Jake arched his eyebrow. “Five-card stud?”
“Hold ‘em,” Jeremiah answered.
“You in, D?” Jake craned his neck to look at Devon.
“Sure.” Devon nodded.
“What about you two?” Jeremiah looked from me to Maimy and back.
“Sounds like fun.” Maimy pushed herself out of the chair.
“What do you think, baby doll?” Devon asked. “Want to play poker with us?”
I turned my head and whispered, “I don’t know how.”
Devon leaned down, kissed my cheek, and smiled. “I’ll teach you.”
Sixteen
Devon parked a few yards from the corner so if my mom watched from the yard, she wouldn’t see me climb into the primer gray truck, slide across the seat, and give Devon a quick peck on the cheek to say hello. She also wouldn’t see him slip his hand up my dress to my inner thigh as he pulled away from the curb. The door would have blocked that anyway, but I was glad we were out of view nonetheless.
I turned toward Devon, resting my elbow on the back of the bench seat, and played with his hair. It had grown out but was still shorter than it had been before he’d gone to juvie and a shade darker in the back.
“Are you going to let your hair grow out again?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“I think you should keep it short.”
“I thought you hated it.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Just took me a while to get used to it. Now I like it. I think it’s sexy.”
The corner of his mouth pulled into a brief half smile. He took his hand from my leg, grabbed a pack of Marlboro Reds from the dash, and lit one before turning onto the gravel road that led to Chase’s trailer.
His soft pink lips parted as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. Aside from a small scar jutting down from the side of his nose into the upper lip line, his lips were perfect—not full, but not thin either. They were the same width as his delicately square chin. From there, I inspected the gentle curve of his scruffy jaw, messy hair, and neat eyebrows. When I got to his eyes, my attention lingered.
I’d never met anyone with eyes like Devon’s. They were impossibly blue, like the ocean on a dark night, so deep I felt like I could drown in them.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yep.” I smiled. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, baby doll.”
I laid my head on his shoulder and watched the sky through the windshield. If not for Devon, it would have been a dismal scene; the rusty, primer-gray truck blended into the matching sky as it sped down the gravel road. There was nothing of interest outside. A few trees dotted the landscape of freshly plowed wheat fields, but otherwise it was miles and miles of dirt.
The view became greener as we reached Chase’s trailer. Fields gave way to thick groups of trees, grass, and wildflowers. Outside the trailer, a group of boys gathered by a white van with “Nocturnal Psycho” and a rotting skull painted on the side. It looked like someone with limited skill had done it with spray paint, leaving the edges undefined and large splotches throughout. I wrinkled my nose, knowing I could have done better with finger paint while drunk.
Devon moved the gear shift, turned off the truck, and removed his keys from the ignition. Opening the door, he stepped out and turned toward me. With a soft smile, he offered me his hand. I took it and climbed out of the truck before he shut the door behind me.
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 9