Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2)

by H. L. Karhoff

  “No, but . . .” He pulled his hand from my grasp. “It’s—”

  “Fine.” I huffed. “Take it off.”

  “Don’t get upset.”

  “I’m not. I wanted to make something for you, but if you don’t like it, that’s fine. Here.” I grabbed his arm. “I’ll take it off and don’t worry, I won’t bother next time since you’re just going to—”

  “Tori, stop.” He put his hand on mine before I could undo the closure. “It’s fine. I’ll wear it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  His fingers tightened around mine. “I said it’s fine.”

  I raised my eyes to meet his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to be a dick.”

  “Well, you kind of are,” I replied.

  “I know. I’m just . . .” He looked at the braided black leather. “I always considered jewelry a chick thing.”

  “Chase wears jewelry.”

  “If we’re basing normal off Chase, I think we’re in trouble.”

  “Since when do you care about being normal?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Really?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Because it sounds like you do. You don’t want to wear the bracelet I made you because it’s not normal for guys to wear jewelry.”

  “I’m wearing it, aren’t I?”

  “Only to shut me up.”

  “And yet, you’re still talking,” he said.

  I slumped into the couch, folded my arms across my chest, and scowled at the coffee table. “Jerk.”

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, jostling me. “I’m joking, baby doll.”

  “Well, you’re not very funny.”

  “I’m sorry.” His lips grazed my temple. “I love the bracelet.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Wrapping both arms around me, he turned me to face him, kissed the tip of my nose, and smiled. “You’re right. I don’t. But I do love you.”

  I frowned. He chuckled softly as he pressed his lips to mine. I didn’t kiss him back, determined not to fold that easily. He’d hurt my feelings, and I wanted more than a half-hearted apology.

  “You’re so adorable when you pout.” He smirked.

  “I’m not pouting.”

  “Okay.” He kissed my neck.

  I set my jaw and tried to ignore him, but my body betrayed me. Each soft touch of his lips sent shivers down my spine. My breath deepened, and my heart beat faster.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his quiet laugh punctuating the air of victory in his tone.

  “Love you, too,” I grumbled.

  He sat back and looked at my face. His eyes sparkled with mischief. He knew he’d won. I wasn’t irritated with him anymore.

  Extending his arm, he twisted his wrist and studied the bracelet. “You know, this thing is growing on me already.”

  I scowled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “What are you talking about?” He grinned. “I’m an awesome liar.”

  I sat forward and turned toward him. “Oh, really?”

  “Wait.” His brow scrunched. “No. That didn’t come out right.”

  I laughed.

  “Think that’s funny, do you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded.

  A devilish grin spread across his face seconds before he launched his tickling assault. I retaliated but was too overcome with laughter to stage a proper defense. When I managed to reach the underside of his thigh—one of his two known ticklish spots—he jerked away so fast he knocked me off the couch.

  “Oh, shit.” He caught me and pulled me onto his lap. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

  “I’m sorry, baby doll.”

  “Don’t be. It was an accident.”

  He inspected me for signs of injury, lifting my shirt to check where his arm had smacked into my side.

  “I’m fine.” I yanked my shirt down, sat back against the couch cushions, and inhaled slowly. “So, do you want to go to Frontier Days?”

  “Sure, you’re okay?” he asked.

  “Uh-hm.” I nodded, smiling to reassure him. “Do you want to go or not?”

  He stared at me as if he were thinking. After a moment, his expression changed, and he arched his eyebrow. “Do we have to go with Joy and Carter?”

  “No.”

  “All right then. Sounds like it might be fun.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t like spending every weekend with Joy and Carter?”

  “No. I really don’t.”

  I chuckled. “Me, neither.”

  Devon took the final drag from his cigarette before flipping off the cherry and sticking the spent butt in his pocket. Looping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me into his side and kissed the top of my head.

  “I love you, baby doll,” he said.

  “I love you, too,” I replied.

  We strolled down the path. A little boy chasing a girl ran in front of us. We stopped and watched the children race down the hill toward the playground. The boy caught the girl, pulling one of her pigtails. She turned around and punched him. He fell to the ground in tears, his hand clutched over his injured arm.

  I giggled. Serves you right.

  The tune of an ice cream truck halted the boy’s tears. He leapt to his feet and the two children ran toward the sound.

  “Do you want some ice cream?” Devon asked, pointing at the truck.

  I looked at him. “Do you?”

  “Sure.” He nodded.

  After waiting in line behind at least a dozen children, Devon bought each of us a cone.

  “Come on.” I left the path for a patch of soft green grass.

  “There’s a bench over there,” he said when I sat down.

  “The grass is fine.”

  “Okay.” He scanned the area before sitting beside me.

  “We can say it’s a picnic.” I smiled.

  “Sure.” He chuckled.

  I watched the passersby and children play while we ate our ice cream. Frontier Days had drawn several people to the park. When I suggested the outing to Devon, I hadn’t considered how many other people would be there. Chances were someone that knew my mom or James would see me with a scruffy, tattooed guy, report my whereabouts, and I’d have to come up with a cover story.

  Lying back, I tried not to think about what would happen if my parents found out. I soaked in the warm sunshine and beautiful blue sky.

  “A rabbit,” I said.

  “What?” Devon looked at me, his eyebrows drawn together to create bumps above his nose.

  “That cloud.” I pointed. “It looks like a rabbit.”

  He followed my finger to the fluffy bunny-shaped cloud. “If you say so.”

  “What do you think it looks like?”

  “A cloud.”

  I frowned at him. “I know it’s a cloud. It looks like a rabbit.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you never play this game when you were a kid?”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “Come here.” I waved for him to lie next to me.

  He didn’t move.

  “Just do it.”

  “Fine.” He twisted his body and lay in the grass beside me, his hands folded on his chest. “Happy?”

  “Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Look at that cloud.” I straightened my arm, index finger extended to a turtle-shaped white puff. “What does it look like to you?”

  “Like a cloud.”

  “Don’t look at it like it’s a cloud. Look at it like it’s an abstract painting and you’re telling me what the subject is.”

  He squinted, pursing his lips. “A turtle?”

  “Uh-huh.” I smiled. “What about that one?”

  “UFO?”

  Giggling, I reached across the space between us and took his hand. We identified shapes in the sky until we couldn’t find any more
. His thumb caressed my palm as we lay in silence. I wiggled closer to put my head on his shoulder. His heartbeat thumped in my ear, steady and relaxed.

  “I like this,” I said.

  He wrapped his arm around me and kissed my forehead. “Me, too.”

  Thirty-Eight

  “Victoria!” Mom yelled up the stairs.

  “Got to go.” I told Devon through the phone. “Pretty sure I’m in trouble.”

  “Because of me?” he asked.

  “Probably,” I answered.

  “Victoria, get down here,” Mom yelled again.

  “Sorry I got you in trouble.” Devon sighed.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “She needs to get over herself.”

  “I doubt that’s going to happen anytime soon,” he replied.

  “Victoria Ann Douglas!” Mom’s patience had worn out. She stomped up the stairs.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” I whispered into the phone. “I really got to go. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Devon said.

  I dropped my fuzzy pink phone in its cradle seconds before Mom opened my door.

  “Victoria Ann, you will come when I call you.” Mom shook her finger at me.

  “Sorry.” I tried to look remorseful. “I was talking to Maimy and she wouldn’t shut up. I didn’t want to be rude and hang up on her.”

  “You were talking to Maimy?” Mom’s brow scrunched.

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded.

  “Sure you weren’t talking to a boy?”

  “Nope.”

  Mom’s eyes darted to the powder-blue shirt draped over the back of my desk chair and my heart kicked into overdrive. Oh, no. I normally kept Devon’s shirt hidden under my pillow, but I’d been in a rush that morning and forgotten to put it away.

  “What’s this?” Mom snatched the shirt, turning it over in her hand. “This isn’t your brother’s.” She looked at me. “Why do you have a boy’s shirt in your room, Tori?”

  “Um . . . He gave it to me?” I answered.

  Her eyes scanned the name patch. “Devon.” She drew in slow breaths, her shoulders rising and falling with each. “I knew it. The other day when Thelma Foster told me she’d seen you at Frontier Days with a boy, I hoped I was wrong about which boy. I thought, ‘Surely, Tori isn’t running around with that boy again. She knows what would happen if her father or I found out she deliberately disobeyed us.’”

  My eyes widened. Crap. I’m so busted. Quick, think of something. “It’s just a shirt, Mom,” I said. “I’ve had it for a while. It was in my closet. I found it the other day, and I thought he might want it back, so I was going to see if one of his friends would give it to him.”

  Although I tried to sound casual, I knew from Mom’s face she didn’t buy a word. When she looked at me, I wanted to disappear. Her eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched.

  “I don’t know how many times I can say this.” Mom paused and took a breath. “Stay away from that boy! He’s a waste of your time. He will never amount to anything but a drain on society.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Stay away from him, Tori.”

  I crossed my arms, slumped my shoulders, and grunted. “Fine.”

  “No, not ‘fine.’ Stay away from him.”

  “Okay.” I raised my voice. “It’s not like we’re going out, anyway. I’ve had that stupid shirt for forever. I just forgot to give it back to him. So you can stop wigging out.”

  “Someday you’re going to have a daughter and you’re going to realize that everything I’ve said is true.”

  “Someday you’re going to realize that you’re not always right.”

  Mom’s nostrils flared as she took a breath. “You might not like what I say, Victoria, but I am still your mother, and you will not talk to me with that tone.”

  I scowled at the wall. Stupid bitch. I hate you. You don’t understand anything.

  Mom dropped Devon’s shirt on my chair, walked farther into the room, and sat beside me. “Tori, I know you think I’m being unreasonable, but it’s my job to at least try to stop you from making bad decisions.” She swept several curls out of my face.

  I put my back to her.

  “That boy is a bad decision whether you want to believe it or not,” she said.

  My lips remained pinched together. I’m not talking to you. It’s not like you’d listen, anyway. You’ve already made up your mind.

  Mom sighed. “What happened to us?”

  The sadness in her voice surprised me enough that I looked at her.

  “We were so close a few years ago,” she continued. “You used to tell me everything going on in your life. Now I feel like I don’t even know you. What happened?”

  What’s going on right now? Is Mom seriously asking me why we aren’t close anymore? I thought that was obvious.

  “You married James and forgot about me,” I said.

  “That’s not true.” She set her hand on mine.

  She didn’t freak out. Weird. “It feels that way. After you had the twins, it’s been like you don’t even care if Chris and I exist.”

  “Just because I pay attention to your brother and sister, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” Her tone shifted from compassionate to accusatory.

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have to be the center of attention all the time, Tori.”

  Of course, she thinks I’m being selfish. According to her, I’m an ungrateful, spoiled brat. So much for having a heart-to-heart. Should have known Mom wasn’t capable of listening.

  “You’re just going to have to deal with the fact you have younger siblings. They need more of my attention than you do. You’re sixteen, Tori. The twins are five, and Terrance isn’t even a month old.”

  “Sorry.” I looked at the floor. Sorry I tried to tell you how I feel. Sorry for wanting to feel like I matter. I’ll know better next time.

  “I know it’s tough sometimes, sweetheart, but that’s part of being a big sister.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Tori.” Mom kissed my forehead.

  “Yeah.” I sighed, looking down at my bed.

  She patted my knee before she stood. “I need to go check on the baby.”

  I watched from the corner of my eye as she walked out of my room. She paused next to my desk chair, peering at Devon’s shirt. I held my breath. Here we go again.

  “Give that boy his shirt back,” was all she said before continuing into the hall without waiting for my response. When I heard her on the stairs, I got up and closed my bedroom door. Then I picked up the phone to call Devon back, but he didn’t answer. No one did. I laid the phone back in its cradle and decided to try again later. He’d probably assumed I wouldn’t call back. I usually didn’t after getting in trouble. My mouth generally talked me into at least a few days of grounding.

  Thirty-Nine

  I lay with my head on Devon’s chest. His fingers gently caressed my shoulder. I could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady. The gentle rhythm lulled me until I felt my eyes grow heavy.

  “Hey.” Devon shook me. “We should probably get you home.”

  “I don’t want to.” I snuggled closer.

  “If we lay here much longer, you’re going to put me to sleep.” He squashed his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand and slid his other arm from under me. “Come on. Get dressed.” Sitting up, he pulled on his shirt and pants before looking at me. “Baby doll.”

  “I’m getting up.” I groaned.

  Dressed, my hair pulled into a loose bun, I climbed into Devon’s truck. He let his hand rest on my thigh as he drove into town, moving it only to shift gears. I chattered about the injustice of being a teenager with a curfew and parents. He listened without interruption or input.

  As we turned onto Main Street, I let out a loud sigh. “I wish I could just do whatever I want like you do.”

  He looked sideways at me. “You shouldn’t wish for something like that.”

  “
Why not?” I folded my arms across my chest. “I hate my parents. All they ever do is yell at me for stupid stuff and take my car away.” I slumped down in the seat.

  Lighting another cigarette, he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. I watched him and waited for a response. He didn’t give one.

  “What?” I scrunched my face.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re thinking something. I know it.”

  “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do. Tell me. Why do I want parents?”

  “Because you don’t know what it’s like not to have them.”

  “You don’t have parents and you’re doing okay.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. I’m such a great role model. High school dropout. Reprobate. Loser. That’s exactly what you want to be.”

  I scowled. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

  “It’s the truth, Tori. You don’t want to be like me.”

  “I happen to like you.”

  “God knows why.”

  I sat up straight and turned to face him. “Because you’re not a loser. You’re amazing. Super smart, and sweet, and . . . totally hot.”

  His eyes flashed to me. I grinned, setting my hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I raised off the seat and kissed his cheek.

  “I love you,” I said.

  He exhaled. “I love you, too, baby doll.”

  The truck slowed to a stop under the streetlight at the corner of Opal and Vine. I slid my arms around his neck, giving him a proper kiss on the lips. As I slid out of the truck, I turned back and smiled at him.

  “Goodnight, sweetie. See you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, baby doll.”

  I waited on the corner until his taillights faded from view. As I walked down the street toward home, his words played like a scrolling marquee through my mind. I didn’t know what it was like not to have parents. I’d assumed it was great. He could do whatever he wanted when he wanted with no one to ground him for missing curfew or anything else. I’d never considered that he also had no one to comfort him when he got a skinned knee, had a rough day at school, or someone broke his heart. No one ever picked blueberries out of pancake batter because they knew he didn’t like them or tried to bake a strawberry cake for his birthday. My mom may not have been Mother of the Year, but she wasn’t the worst mother either. At least she loved me.