Wreck Me Read online

  "Not anymore," I utter quietly.

  He pauses. "Is he... I mean, I know he's your ex-husband, but how?"

  I keep my eyes fixed on the ground. He's getting too close to the truth. "How what?"

  "How did that happened?" he asks. "I mean he seems so... And you seem so..."

  I sigh, elevating my head and looking at him through the dark. Streams of light surround us from the nearby lamppost and the moonlight cast shadows across his features. "He wasn't always that way. He's been my ex-husband for a little over two years." I sketch my fingertip along the finger that once had a ring on it. I swear I can still see the tan line there, like it wasn't two years ago when I last wore it. "And he showed up here today, but it was while I wasn't around, so I didn't see him."

  "You've been divorced for two years." He's stunned beyond shock. "How old were you when you got married?"

  There you go. Be put off. You just made this easier on me.

  "Seventeen," I say, staring up at the night sky and the stars. I puff on my cigarette, dragging out time, unwilling to offer him the reason why we got married so young, unwilling to tell him about Mason. The last thing I want to do is get Mason involved in this... whatever this is--I'm not really sure yet.

  Tristan restlessly drums his fingers on the side of his leg. "I don't really blame you for divorcing him after what I saw that night."

  If only he knew how insignificant that night was compared to the shit that went on. Toward the end was the worst.

  Toward the end is when he broke me.

  And then I nearly broke myself.

  "Yeah, he's kind of an asshole." I smile stiffly. "Which is why I try to avoid him with a restraining order I've had on him for months."

  He struggles with what to say next. Pour guy. He walked straight into that mess that night three months ago, not even knowing what he was getting into, just like he's doing now.

  "You know, we can go back inside if you want." I give him an out from the seemingly painful conversation.

  He stares down at his half-smoked cigarette in his hand, the cherry glowing brightly against the night. When he looks up at me again, something crosses his expression that I don't recognize. "You know it wasn't the first time, right?"

  "The first time what?"

  "That I've had a knife pulled on me."

  I'm not sure if he said it to make me feel better about my dark past or not, but I kind of do and kind of like him for it. Another brownie point for him. Jesus, he's tallying them up quickly.

  "When? I mean, when else did you have a knife pulled on you?"

  He cups his hand around his side where Conner cut him that night with a knife. "A few times actually... during drug deals and shit."

  "How are you doing with that stuff?" When Tristan winces, I add, "Or is that too personal of a question for me to be asking?"

  "No... it's okay. I asked you stuff so it's only fair you should get to ask me." He sucks in another lengthy drag from his cigarette then smoke eases from his lips. "I've been clean since that thing with you and I happened. But when I went home..." He shakes his head. "I almost fucked up several times and still feel like I'm going to slip up every single day."

  "That's good, though, that you haven't slipped up. And that you're trying to stay sober."

  "Don't get too excited. I've tried to stay clean a lot of times already."

  "So, at least you try," I tell him because he looks so dejected. It's a side of him I've never witnessed before and I find myself wanting to explore it--to help him feel better. "Some people don't even get that far."

  He gives me a blank stare. "How many times did it take you to get clean?"

  I shrug, scuffing my boot against the asphalt. "Just once, but I had huge reasons to get my shit together."

  He waits for me to explain further, but I'm not going to. The reasons are too personal and honestly I'm kind of ashamed of the person I was two and a half years ago. That weak woman. Unstable. Just like my mother. That for a while I turned out to be everything I never wanted to be.

  "You know, I thought about getting your phone number that next morning," he says. "But settled on writing you the note instead. Figured it might be better."

  "I'm going to agree with you on that one. It's probably for the best that you didn't find me after that night." I drop my cigarette to the ground and put it out with the tip of my boot. "Because I broke my rule with you and that was the only time I ever have."

  He grazes his thumb along the bottom of his cigarette, knocking the ash off. "The no guy rule?"

  I nod, inching toward the door with every intention of leaving because this conversation is getting way too heavy and deep. "That kiss was never supposed to happen. And not because I'm hung up on my ex-husband or anything. It's just..." I trail off and then clear my throat, not wanting to go any further. "But, yeah, like I said, I should have never kissed you. It was very wrong of me to kiss you when I've made a vow never to be with any guy again."

  He steps toward me, diminishing the space between us. "Ever?" His forehead creases as he angles his head to the side, looking utterly confused and at the same time absolutely intrigued.

  I wonder if he's put two and two together.

  Two years. It's been two years since a guy touched me or kissed me.

  I nonchalantly shrug. "Sometimes being unattached is the best thing for someone."

  "Yeah, but forever? That's a really, really long time."

  "Yeah... it's... Well, it's forever. And I've been doing well with that rule for two years until you came along," I press and his mouth sinks to a frown. "I'm not saying it was bad. I'm glad you stepped in when you did. No one's ever done that for me, but still that kiss..." I should step back more because he's so close I can barely think straight, but my feet refuse to budge. "It was forbidden."

  "Forbidden." The word rolls off his tongue as he dares another step toward me.

  I place a hand on his rock solid chest to stop him from getting nearer. "No way. We're not breaking the rule again."

  He gives me an innocent look, which I'm starting to learn is his thing. "I'm not trying to break any rules, just heading in the direction of the door like you."

  "Yeah, right." I roll my eyes. "If you knew what you were getting into, you'd be running away instead of me holding you back."

  His gaze swings to the large dumpster, where he once stopped Conner from hitting me, then he eyes the door over my shoulder. "I highly doubt that," he mumbles then looks back at me. "But if you want me to back off, I will."

  Great. Now he's giving me a choice that I'm clearly not capable of making. Repeating my mistakes. Repeating. Repeating. Repeating.

  I thought I'd gotten better the second time around.

  I have to do better to make up for what I did.

  "I mean, it's pretty clear we're attracted to each other," Tristan carries on, but doesn't attempt to come any closer. "Or at least I'm attracted to you," he says with a trace of self-doubt, giving me another glimpse of the side of him hiding under the flirty one. I kind of like this side of him and kind of fear it because it's so...

  Real.

  As if I've lost my mind, I wet my lips with my tongue, a move I haven't done in years. A slow smile curves at his mouth.

  "You did that on purpose," he murmurs while eyeing my mouth and moistening his lips with his tongue.

  "No I didn't." I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Stop leaning in Avery.

  But we move like magnets. He leans in a little. I lean in a little. Me. Him. Me. Him. There's hardly any space left between us. I can feel the warmth of his breath. Smell the delicious scent of his cologne. He's still holding the cigarette and smoke circles around us, mingling with the intensity of the moment. Am I going to do this? Let my wall down for another guy?

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  I never fully get to make the decision because Tristan eliminates the last of the space between u
s and our lips collide. Fire and lust blazes through my veins yet I remain frozen, refusing to take this kiss further. But when his warm tongue brushes against mine, my lips willingly part, as if they'd been eagerly waiting for this moment.

  Holy.

  Freaking.

  Hell.

  Two damn years.

  I swear to God my body just combusted into flames. The fire inside me only blazes brighter as his hands grip my waist, his fingers delving into my flesh, pulling me closer as he sucks on my tongue, bites at my bottom lip, drowns me in heat. He starts backing me up somewhere... or maybe I'm pulling him with me as I move backward... It's hard to tell. It's hard to tell anything, other than he tastes so good, so warm, so enticing.

  I've been so lonely.

  And I want him.

  God, do I want him.

  His kiss is better than I imagined, carrying way more passion and intensity than I thought possible. And the fact that I have imagined kissing Tristan a thousand times becomes painfully aware to me. But I don't have time to dwell on that revelation because he abruptly grasps my thighs and picks me up. My legs hook around his hips and seconds later, my back slams against the brick wall as he presses into me, rocking his hips against mine. My fingers stab through the back of his shirt as I seek something to hold onto, something that will bring me back to reality. Nothing works though and when he rolls his hips again, his hardness presses against me. My nails pierce through the fabric and scratch the flesh of his shoulder blades.

  "Avery," he groans, his lips leaving mine and trailing down my jawline to the faint scar on my throat where he licks a path to my collarbone.

  This time, I'm the one to moan, a deep, throaty sound that I barely recognize as his teeth graze my sensitive flesh. His hands are wandering all over my body, feeling all of my curves and skin, but when his fingers brush just underneath the hem of my shirt right where my scars are, my eyes shoot open.

  My lips stop moving.

  My heart stops beating.

  My lungs stop fighting.

  I'm dying.

  Remember why you died, Avery?

  Remember what it felt like to be betrayed.

  Abandoned.

  "Wait, stop," I whisper, sounding breathless, almost choked. "I can't do this." Even though it's just a whisper, it's enough to snap us both back to reality.

  Tristan's eyelids lift and our gazes collide. A beat of silence goes by before he releases me and shuffles back. It feels like I should be happier about my decision but I just feel miserable. The misery only amplifies when Tristan moves back into the moonlight and I get a glimpse of internal agony in his eyes. Whether it's because of my rejection or something else, I'll never know. Because he turns away from me and jogs off down the alleyway without saying another word, leaving me in the dark beneath the stars, questioning if I made the right decision. It sure as hell doesn't feel that way. In fact, it feels wrong.

  Everything feels wrong.

  I glance up at the stars, searching for an answer, but all they seem to say is: Wake up, Avery. Wake up and open your eyes.

  The problem is, my eyes are fully open and I can't see a damn thing.

  A little over five years earlier....

  Chapter 12

  Welcome to reality.

  Avery

  My dad was right. I am a dreamer like him. I used to dream lots of things, when I was asleep, and when I was awake sometimes. The last six months with Conner had felt like a dream. But now, it's starting to feel like a nightmare. And unlike my father, I can't run away from it.

  It started out all kisses and touches and passion and love, a wonderful escape from the reality of my life. But I should have been smarter. I knew better than to think life was a dream. And just like all dreams do, mine has come to an end.

  I woke up.

  "I feel like I'm going to throw up again," I mumble as I sit down on the cold kitchen floor and cradle my stomach with my arm. "And I don't even know how it's possible since my stomach is pretty much empty from the last time I threw up."

  Conner peers over his shoulder at me. "Well, at least you got that whole glowing look going for you."

  I frown as I slouch back against the cupboard and wipe the sweat from my forehead. "Gee, thanks." I sigh tiredly and shut my eyes, wishing I could just go to sleep.

  "So, what do you think?" Conner asks and I hear him shut a cupboard. "Is this place the one?"

  I force my eyes open and glance around at the distressed kitchen counters, the chipped tile floor, and the blinding yellow countertops that match the trimming of the entire apartment. "It's kind of old and rundown, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, but it's only temporary until I get promoted, which should happen soon." He crouches down in front of me, all smiles and happiness. I don't know how the hell he does it--how he manages to be so happy when everything around us is spinning in chaos and uncertainty. Just under seventeen years old and I'm having a baby. In just over six months, I'll be responsible for another human being yet I won't even be at legal drinking age.

  "Maybe you could sell one of your cars," I suggest. I've always dreamed of living in a nice house with walls that weren't stained with the residue of meth, and the rooms untainted with dark memories. I've dreamed of having a house that has a roof that doesn't leak, a place that I could call my own.

  But I've also dreamed of going to college when I turned eighteen. Getting a career. Finally being on my own. And that dream is looking pretty bleak right now.

  "I can't do that. Those cars mean a lot to me, Avery," he says, his smile fading for the briefest moment, but it happens so quickly I can barely register it, let alone process the meaning behind it.

  "I thought I meant everything to you." I blame my weakness on my hormones but really part of it stems from the fear of being alone, pregnant, and living in that God-awful house with my mother.

  He sighs. "Look, I promise things will get better just as soon as I get promoted. And if they don't, the cars will go."

  "Okay, but"--I slowly inhale as another bout of nausea hits me--"what about Jax? I can't just leave him."

  Conner's happiness falters. "Av, as much as I love Jax, I don't think we can have him live with us." When I frown, he cups my face in his hands. "At least not until we get on our own feet. Maybe after the baby comes and we get the balance of being parents."

  I'm on the verge of bawling. "But what if I can't?"

  "What if you can't what?"

  "Find a balance." Hot tears downpour from my eyes. "I mean, I've never had an actual mother to observe and what if... I suck. You're lucky. You have a mom who showed you how the whole parenting thing works."

  "You won't suck," he promises as he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me. "This is all going to work out. Things will be perfect. You'll see."

  Sometimes I wonder if he really sees though. Ever since the day I told him I was pregnant, he's been nothing except positive and happy about it to the point where I question if he really understands what's going on, if he can see the bigger picture. That everything is going to change--that the days of having fun and staying out all night are gone.

  That our dreamer days are over.

  Gone.

  "Yeah, okay." Vomit burns at the back of my throat seconds later. I spring to my feet, shoving him out of the way as I rush for the bathroom. I've been this way for the last month and I'm getting sick of it. I did some searching online and found out that it could keep going on like this for the entire first trimester.

  I puke my guts out for the next couple of minutes then lie down on the floor and press my overheated cheek to the cool linoleum. I'm not sure how long I stay that way, but it's long enough that I expect Conner to come in and check on me. But after a lot of time drifts by and he doesn't, I finally drag my ass back to the kitchen where he's sitting on the cupboard, texting.

  "Hey, are you doing okay?" he asks, preoccupied by his phone.

  I nod as I cross the kitchen to him. "Yeah, but I can't wait until this
whole morning sickness thing wears off."

  He punches a few more buttons then puts the away and hops off the counter. "Me too," he agrees, taking my hand. "I have an idea though, that might get your mind off it."

  "Oh yeah?" I ask with interest. "And what's that?"

  "There's a party going on at the college that I got invited to. We should go."

  I frown and slip my hand out of his. "Conner, I don't want to go to a party. The smell of alcohol alone will make me puke even when I'm not pregnant."

  Now he's frowning.

  Over the last two months, Conner has made a habit of going to a lot of parties. I try to tell myself that it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm pregnant and that he's trying to grasp on to what little adolescence he has left.