“That’s your own fault.”
“I know.” He looked at the sidewalk, shook his head, and exhaled. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It was stupid.”
“You scared me.”
He raised his eyes. “I would never hurt you.”
“But you did.”
His brow drooped, and his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean . . .” He took a deep breath. “I never meant to hurt you. I know nothing I say will change what I did, but it won’t happen again. I promise.”
I looked away. I don’t know if I can trust you. You’ve lied to me before; how do I know you’re not lying now? You might just be telling me what I want to hear. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what anymore?” he asked.
“This.” I turned back to him. “I missed you so much when you were gone. But since you’ve been back it feels like you’re further away than you were before, and I don’t know how to get to you.”
“I’m right here.”
“No. You’re not.” I sniffled.
His cast scratched my cheek as he cupped my face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m trying.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Lia’s words rang in my head: He’s an addict and addicts don’t change. Although I thought everyone deserved a second chance, Devon had had more chances than I could count. I loved him. I hated the drugs. I hated the person they made him. He’d lied to me, abandoned me, and treated me like a whore.
“I can’t.” I shook my head and stepped back. “I can’t be with you.”
He blinked. “What? Tori, you . . .” His face twitched. “Don’t . . . don’t do this.”
I straightened my shoulders as I inhaled. “Goodbye, Devon.”
My stoic exterior lasted until I got to my car. As soon as I shut the door, I broke. I wanted to go back, tell him I was wrong, and throw my arms around him. But I couldn’t. He wasn’t going to change, and I couldn’t keep pretending it was okay.
Forty-Two
Devon
The rough vinyl strained under my fingers as I gripped the wheel. The engine rumbled. I could feel it in the seat, sending vibrations up my spine. The old truck didn’t like to idle long. I knew it would die if I didn’t give it gas soon, but I didn’t care. I stared through the cracked windshield, watching cars pull into the theater lot and hoping one would be a red Mustang.
But I knew she wasn’t coming back. I felt it as soon as she’d said goodbye.
I had one destination in mind when I started the truck. The only place I wanted to go was to her. Doubt made me hesitate—and the dim hope she’d change her mind. I knew she wouldn’t. She’d had enough, and I couldn’t blame her. After everything I’d put her through, no one would. I deserved the pain eating a hole in my chest as much as I deserved the throbbing pain in my hand.
It had been weeks and moving my fingers still sent a jolt of agony surging up my arm. The realization I’d broken something set in as soon as I’d woken. Claire lay next to me, her chocolate-brown hair splayed across my pillow and her bare, pert breasts rising with every breath. I didn’t have to be a genius to know what I’d done even if I couldn’t remember.
Slipping out of bed, I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from groaning in pain as I pulled on my clothes and crept out of the room. I had no intention of dealing with Claire. Her voice alone gave me a migraine and my head already throbbed as if Monty had played “Doctor Who” on my skull all night.
Once in the bathroom, I flipped on the light and inspected my hand. Dried, crusty blood capped my knuckles and the whole thing had swollen to resemble a monstrous ogre’s claw.
What the hell did I do? I mentally scanned everything I could recall about the previous night. After work I’d gone back to Chase’s, taken a shower, and let Carter win a game of chess. He needed the confidence boost. His judgmental bitch girlfriend had said something earlier that put him in a bad mood.
At some point, everyone had come over. Except Tori. I struggled to remember where she’d been. Did she get in trouble and have to stay home? Was her stepdad being a dick again? Why wasn’t she there?
I heard her scream my name as if she stood next to me in the bathroom. Then her face flashed in my head. The terror in her eyes slammed into me like a sledge hammer to the gut. I dropped to my knees, doubled over, and heaved.
No. I pinched my eyes closed and shook my head. I wouldn’t—I didn’t hurt her. I focused on the memory. Along with Tori’s scream, I remembered blood dripping from my knuckles as I drew my fist away from my truck. I hadn’t hit her. I’d hit my truck. But it was sufficient to horrify her.
When she ran away, I hadn’t chased her. She needed to be as far from me as possible even if it hurt to watch her leave. I didn’t trust myself.
I’d rehearsed my apology a dozen times on the way to the theater. Before I could get the words out, she started bitching. She knew exactly which buttons to push. I needed her to understand, but she wouldn’t listen. In retrospect I couldn’t fault her. At the time, I became increasingly perturbed with each accusation. She wanted me to be perfect. I’d tried to be—for her—but I failed.
Falling in love with Tori had been a mistake. The first time I saw her, I didn’t know what to make of her. I’d been arranging another set of textbooks in a locker I didn’t plan to use for long when a short girl with crazy hair stepped in front of the locker two down from mine. She turned the combination lock three times—thirty-five, ten, twenty-three—before kicking the door and yelling at it. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. She reminded me of a pissed off midget.
I offered to help. She barely looked at me, stuck up her nose, and insisted she was fine. Of course a girl like her wouldn’t want anything to do with me. Aside from her wild hair, every detail of her outfit—pink dress, white sweater, and white doll shoes—said innocent rich girl. I’d left all my stuff at A.J.’s when I got busted so the only clothes I had to wear were the few things Lia picked up secondhand: a faded T-shirt and torn jeans three sizes too big. Not the best attire for a favorable first impression.
Tori opened her locker and almost hit me with the door. I stepped back, annoyed. Like every other school I’d been to, the rich, popular kids in Trent thought they owned the space around them. She huffed as if I’d encroached on her, whirled on me like she was about to tell me off, and stopped. I waited for the tongue lashing, but she just stared at me.
The top of her head didn’t reach my shoulders. I had to look down to see her face. She was beautiful—big bluish-green eyes, full pink lips, a cute button nose, delicate cheekbones, and those amazing golden curls. Her pink dress hugged her curves, offering enough of a preview to know I wanted to see her without it.
Joy interrupted and dragged her away before I had the chance to make a move. I didn’t have a habit of chasing girls, even beautiful ones, so I didn’t sweat it. There were plenty of other girls around. I couldn’t help noticing Tori, though. Not just because she was sexy or because her hair demanded attention; because I couldn’t avoid her. Even when I tried. Though, admittedly, I didn’t try very hard.
Something about her enticed me—her coy smile, her innocent laugh, her short skirts beckoning me to slide my hands up her thighs . . .
She had a boyfriend: a closet-case jock that treated her like crap. I wondered why she didn’t break up with him until I realized everyone around her treated her the same way. Her best friend talked over her when she tried to speak, dismissed her feelings, and accused her of being self-centered. The other girls laughed at her behind her back. None of them noticed or cared how miserable she was. Not even Joy.
I knew what it felt like to be forgotten. In ten years, I’d lived with seven foster families, been in juvie three times, and spent more than a few nights on the street. No one had cared what happened to me. My sister only agreed to let me stay with her when I said I’d pay rent. She’d been on me since I moved in about getting a job, keeping records o
f every cent I owed her for meals, clothes, and cigarettes.
The day Tori and I spent together in detention, I realized I wanted more than to sleep with her. When she asked me about being on probation, I considered lying. Until then, she’d looked at me as if I could do anything. I wanted to be the guy she thought I was. Admitting the truth would prove I wasn’t.
What are you doing? She’ll find out eventually. You can’t keep this up forever. At least if you tell her now, you can get it over with.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
She shifted uncomfortably. Her face scrunched as she processed the information. I waited for her to get up and walk as far away from me as possible, but she didn’t move from her chair.
“That’s cool,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” I laughed, relieved she hadn’t bolted for the door. “It sucks ass.”
“Hey!” Milton yelled. “Watch the language, Sharpe, or you’ll be seeing me again tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned.
Milton liked to flex his authority from time to time, but he and I both knew his threats held no weight. I’d had a standing appointment with Milton for the previous two weeks. Like classes, however, I showed up for detention when the mood struck me—usually just often enough to stop Principal Long from calling Lia and getting her riled. That day, I’d spotted Tori through the small window in the door.
“Your last name is Sharpe?” Tori asked.
I nodded.
“Devon Sharpe,” she said as if testing it out. “What’s your middle name?”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head and smiled.
“Please. I’ll tell you mine.”
She batted her eyes at me, and I wished I’d worn my glasses, so I could see her better. Without them, I couldn’t make out the details of her face from where I sat. I leaned closer. She smelled like lavender and vanilla—a soft, delicate scent that matched her perfectly.
I wanted to kiss her, but hesitated. Over my own nervous heartbeat, I could hear the girls chattering in the back of the room, and Milton grumbling under his breath about getting stuck on babysitting duty again. If I kissed her, at least a dozen people would be witness.
I settled for letting my lips graze her ear as I whispered, “Not telling.”
She shivered.
Sitting back in my chair, I grinned.
“No fair,” she whined.
I laughed. Her pouty face was adorable. Everything about her exhilarated me. When she smiled, her entire face lit up and her eyes sparkled. I couldn’t look away from her. The chaos in my head quieted. I didn’t think about any of the stuff going on in my life. For forty-five minutes, I was just a boy flirting with a pretty girl. Nothing else mattered.
The cars cruising past blurred. I wiped my eyes. Yeah, real manly, Dev. Cry because your girlfriend broke up with you. I shoved my foot down on the clutch and jammed the shifter into first. The engine roared as I sped out of the parking lot, not bothering to look for other vehicles. Horns blared, and tires screeched behind me.
Lighting a cigarette, I flipped on the stereo and pushed one of the tapes Tori had given me into the cassette player. The Unforgiven blasted from the speakers. Of fucking course. I pushed the eject button and threw the tape across the truck. Static poured from the speakers. I clicked the stereo off, adjusted my hand on the wheel, and stared out the windshield. With no clear destination, I turned onto the highway toward Trent.
The truck rolled to a stop. I moved the shifter, turned off the engine, and leaned back against the seat. All right. This is it. What are you going to do?
I looked out the passenger window at a beige house. None of the lights were on, not even the porch light. My heart thumped nervously against my sternum. I could just go out to Marshal’s. Smoke another bowl and forget about everything for a while. I set my hand on the keys dangling from the ignition. No. I promised her I’d do better. I let my hand drop, then raised it back to the keys. Just one more time. It’ll help clear my head. Let me think straight. I turned the key forward. No.
I slipped a cigarette from the pack. My hand shook as I put it to my lips. The tobacco tasted like coarse dirt sliding across my tongue.
What the hell’s the point? She won't take me back. Why would she? I’m a worthless piece of shit. Even if she gives me another chance, I’ll only fuck things up again.
I finished the cigarette. Lit another. Moths buzzed around the streetlights. The sound of their wings and the clink of their tiny heads banging against the glass echoed in the still night. I’d taken the last of the ibuprofen in the glove box, but it had done nothing to ease the pain in my skull. I smashed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, folded my arms across the top of the steering wheel, and lay my forehead against them.
It doesn’t stop. It just keeps going. And it’s all pointless. All of it. Nobody gives a damn. They say they do, but it’s just words. Words are easy. Simple.
“I care what happens to you.”
I sat back, eyes wide, and looked around. “What the fuck?”
I’d heard Tori’s voice as if she sat beside me, but she wasn’t there. I checked all the windows. The street was as deserted as it had been before I put my head down.
Closing my eyes again, I took a deep breath. My heart raced. I knew I’d heard her voice. It was too clear to be a memory, and I’d never had that vivid of an imagination. But I couldn’t think of another explanation. She wasn’t in the truck or on the street outside.
Keep it together. I concentrated on the image of her face in my mind: her crazy curls glowing in the sunlight, her soft laugh, and the way she smiled when she said she loved me. She hadn’t faked it. She meant every word.
My fingers wrapped around the door handle. With one last exhale, I opened my eyes, popped the door, and stepped out of the truck. As I walked up the sidewalk, my heart pounded in my ears. I pushed myself forward. Each step felt heavier than the last. Raising my hand, I hesitated before knocking on the door.
This was a bad idea. What was I thinking? I turned around. The porch light flipped on as my boot hit the second stair. Shit. Too late. The door opened behind me.
“Devon? What’s going on? It’s two o’clock in the morning.”
I didn’t move. It’s not too late. I can still make up an excuse and leave. I turned back to the door. No. I can’t keep doing this shit.
“Sorry, Dr. Fields,” I said. “I wasn’t sure where else to go. I, uh . . .” My voice didn’t sound like mine. I let it trail off. Picking at the cast on my hand, I searched for an escape route. This was stupid. I shouldn’t have come here.
Carter’s dad stared at me for what felt like eons, his bushy gray eyebrows drawn over his dark eyes. Then he stepped onto the porch and put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, son. Come inside.”
Acknowledgements
I would like to take a moment to thank the amazing people who helped during the process of bringing Broken Dreams from a story in my head to a story on the page. First, I want to thank my parents, who were my first fans, for encouraging me to continue writing. Their support, reassurance, and love has helped me become the person I am today.
Second, I would like to thank my English teachers, Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Ballard, Mrs. Farrimond, and Mrs. Criger, for teaching me grammar, usage, style, and all the other “boring English stuff.” Throughout my education, I have had the good fortune of having wonderful teachers who showed me the power and beauty of words and how to manipulate words to do my bidding.
I also want to thank Rebecca Church, for her brutal honesty and patience through the many drafts of Broken Dreams, and Michelle King for helping me add more depth and emotion to the story as well as being an amazing editor and proofreader. Without these truly wonderful ladies, Broken Dreams would not be the story it is today.
k you for reading books on Archive.
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 24