Wreck Me Page 24

  The driver's side door swings open and then Conner climbs out. He has a cigarette between his lips, is wearing a plaid shirt over a white tank top, and his hair is cropped short. He looks almost like he did toward the end of our marriage except he might be a little bit heavier now. What that means, I have no clue, nor do I care.

  My heart slams agonizingly against the inside of my chest as Conner tips his head back and looks up at the neon sign on top of The Vibe. He shuts the door then drops the cigarette to the ground and starts around the car.

  "Please get back in your car. Please. Please. Please," I murmur, balling my hands into fists as I begin to shake and shiver.

  Tristan suddenly places a hand on my shoulder. Not only do I feel the warmth and calmness, but I drown in it.

  "Avery," Tristan utters softly, his fingers drawing a delicate path up and down my arm. "God, you're shivering."

  "I'm sorry," I say, like it somehow situation better. My fear of my ex-husband is humiliating, way more than being up on a bar, dancing in front of people.

  "Don't be sorry. This isn't your fault. Nothing he does is your fault." His hand glides up to my shoulder, and he gently pulls on me, trying to draw me away from the window. "And he can't get in here, so let's just go back to the bar and wait until he leaves."

  "I need to call the police," I mumble as Conner turns away from the building and ducks his head to say something to a guy sitting in the passenger seat. "He's breaking his restraining order again."

  Tristan begins tracing soothing circles on the nape of my neck as he steers me away from the door. "We can do that, but after we get you away from the door."

  I take one final look at Conner then tear my attention away from him. Not daring to meet Tristan's gaze, I wiggle my arm from his grasp and scurry behind the bar while retrieving my phone from my purse.

  "Can you go tell Benny what's up?" I ask as I dial the police. "I want him to know what's going on."

  Tristan doesn't say anything, but I hear him retreat toward the stairway to Benny's office. I bite my thumbnail as I quickly tell the operator what's going on, and she says she'll send someone over.

  By the time I hang up, Tristan has returned.

  "He'll be down in a second," he says, pointing over his shoulder at the hallway. "He went to set the alarm and check all the doors."

  I nod, clutching my phone as I pace the floor, listening for yelling, the sounds of glass breaking, threats. However, it remains quiet--too quiet.

  "Hey." Tristan circles around to the back of the bar and obstructs my path, causing me to almost run into him. When I slam to a halt, he places his hand over mine and guides my thumb away from my mouth, putting an end to the nail biting. "Everything's going to be okay, Avery. He can't hurt you anymore. And the police will be here soon."

  I almost laugh. "The police were at my house the other night, and they couldn't catch him. And even if they did, what would happen? Another short time in jail, if that, then he'd be out, tormenting me again."

  "Wait, he was at your house the other night?" Tristan asks, shocked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

  A hollow laugh leaves my lips. "Because he's my problem, not yours. You should just walk away now. Go out the back door and don't get involved in this."

  "I'm already involved," he says resolutely. "In fact, I got involved three months ago, so I'm not backing out now."

  "Tristan, I..." I have no idea what to say to him. Even Jax has never gotten involved like Tristan did that night he stepped in.

  For the strangest moment, I feel safe with Conner just yards away, and I have no idea what to do with that. Safeness has never been something that's come easily to me. After my father left, I felt afraid for years while living with my mother. Then Conner came into my life, and for a second, everything felt all right, but it was ephemeral, an illusion.

  Could this be another illusion?

  Or is it different?

  How can I tell?

  "I'm not going anywhere," Tristan tells me then pulls over a chair and pats the seat. "Now, sit down and let's talk."

  "Talk?" I question, eyeballing the chair with wariness. "About what?"

  Tristan sighs as he steps around me and gently sets his hands on my shoulders. Then he steers me toward the chair and lightly pushes me down until I'm sitting. "About anything you want." He takes a seat on the floor in front of the chair.

  "I can't think of anything right now," I mutter, my gaze darting to the front door when I hear a sharp bang.

  "How about your birthday? Other than the super awesome beach party we're going to, what else are you doing?"

  "Um, having cake and ice cream with the family." I can't detach my gaze from the door, deadly afraid that at any moment Conner is going to come storming inside. "And then dinner. We always do dinner... it's a tradition."

  "That sounds like fun. It's been a while since I've done the whole cake and ice cream thing."

  "I kind of have a sweet tooth," I say, nearly lurching out of the chair when I hear Conner shout my name.

  "Yeah, I remember the cupcakes." His voice gets swallowed up by Conner's yelling.

  I grip the sides of the chair, my pulse erratic, my breathing shallow.

  "Avery."

  Oh, my God, he's going to kill me.

  Flames.

  Fire.

  Pain.

  I just want it to be over.

  "Avery."

  When Tristan's fingers graze my chin, the contact jerks me back to him. I realize he's been saying my name over Conner's screams.

  "Relax," Tristan says as he kneels up in front of me. "He's not getting to you, even if he gets inside."

  "You don't know how violent he is," I whisper as tears sting my eyes. I suck the waterworks back, not wanting to show Tristan my weaknesses. But then I realize he's already seen some of them, so I let the tears fall.

  "Avery." The way he says my name, in a solemn whisper, floods my body warmth and erases my fear. The heat only surges greater when he reaches up and begins wiping the tears from my cheeks with his fingertips.

  I've never had a guy do this for me before. Usually, they were the ones causing the tears. And it's been so long since someone has taken care of me... so ridiculously long that I have no idea how to react.

  "Avery." This time, my name comes out in a husky tone.

  I realize I'm leaning toward him. I could stop myself--stop what I'm about to do. There's plenty of time to stop, but I find myself craving the distraction from the banging and yelling going on out front. Wanting the kiss, just wanting it. Plain and simple. It might be the worst timing in the world, but I've had perfectly timed kisses before and that got me nothing other than pain and heartache.

  Tristan appears to not be as convinced as I am, because he starts to lean away. Before he can make it too far, I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him toward me again. That's all it takes for his restraint to evaporate.

  The moment our lips connect, I realize just how much I've been lying to myself. The kiss is anything but a friend kiss. It has fire. Passion. Heat. It has everything, including the magic ability to erase the pain inside me, to stop my scars from burning each time Conner shouts out my name.

  Conner disappears, vanishes somewhere between the first sweep of our tongues and the sound of my whimper as Tristan nibbles at my lip. He rests his hand just under my breast, and my body arches as my nipples harden beneath my shirt.

  Good God. I'm coming undone from a simple touch.

  Starved.

  I am starved.

  For him.

  "We should probably stop this," he breathes against my mouth as I struggle to get oxygen in my lungs.

  Stop?

  No, please, no.

  Fuck the rules.

  Fuck everything.

  I respond by scooting forward in the chair and opening my legs so he's between them. He moans in response, his fingers gliding up my thighs. I tense as his hands arrive at the bottom of my shorts. I worry he's going to t
ake this farther than I want to. But instead of trying to feel me up, his fingers delve down into my flesh. With one swift movement, his hands slide up to my hips, and he desperately pulls me closer. Our tongues tangle, slow and sensual as our hands explore each other's bodies.

  I grip at his shoulders, pulling him closer, refusing to listen to that inner voice screaming at me to stop this. That I've crossed the point of no return with this friendship and there's no going back. That I need to be able to go back. That I don't want this, at least not under the circumstances.

  Before I can respond to my thoughts, Tristan pulls away. His eyes are glazed over, his pupils massive in the darkness covering the bar, his breathing ragged.

  "I think I hear sirens," he whispers, tracing the pad of his thumb back and forth across my bottom lip, mesmerized by my mouth.

  My chest rapidly rises and falls as I work to catch my breath. "Me, too."

  "You'll be safe soon," he promises, still staring at my mouth as if it's the most fascinating thing in the universe.

  "Good," I whisper back in a hoarse voice.

  What I really want to say is I already feel safe.

  Because of you.

  Chapter 26

  I feel... different.

  Tristan

  It took a lot of restraint not to walk out that door and beat Conner's ass. The only thing that stopped me was the horrified look on Avery's face. She was one step away from losing it, and I needed to be there to make her stay calm, feel safe.

  Then the kiss happened.

  The most amazing, terrifying, and poorly timed kiss ever. One I had to end, otherwise I'm not sure I'd be able to ever stop. I needed things not to go that far. Avery needed things not to go that far, whether she realized it or not. And just like that, I realize I've become that guy--the good kind that doesn't put his needs first.

  What the hell?

  How did that happen?

  I'm not supposed to be good. I'm supposed to be bad. Just like I've always been told I was. The screw up. The disappointment. The loser. Junkie. No good bastard.

  But maybe they were wrong.

  My thoughts sink deep into my bones as the night goes on. The police never catch Conner; he took off the moment he heard the sirens. We file a report, and by the time Nova shows up, Avery looks exhausted. I get her in the car and then hop into the backseat with her. Nova has questions in her eyes as to why there are cop cars everywhere, but I quickly shake my head, warning her not to ask them.

  We drive in silence through the faintly lit town, past dark houses and closed stores, up a few narrow side streets, finally arriving at the house Nova and I helped build for Avery. It's in a small, quiet subdivision, and looks peaceful in the darkness of the night.

  "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ask Avery after Nova pulls up in the driveway. All the interior lights are off and no one looks like they're home. I painfully become aware that I still have no clue who Avery lives with, if anyone.

  She nods as I open the door and flip the seat forward to get out of the car. "I'm good... I don't live alone."

  "Oh." I step back so she can get out. "Who do you live with?"

  "Family," she vaguely replies as she ducks out, clutching her purse.

  I want to press her more, but the desperate look she gives me, as if she's silently pleading for me to let her be, silences my questions.

  "So you can call me at any time if you need anything," I say.

  "Thanks, but I'll be fine." She hurries up the driveway.

  I feel the strangest pull to beg her to come back to the motel with me where I know she'll be safe. Instead, I watch as she unlocks the door and rushes inside, flipping on the lights. Then I get back into the car and sigh heavily as Nova backs down the driveway.

  "What in the hell happened?" she asks as she drives down the isolated road toward the extended highway that stretches between towns.

  "Just a bunch of stuff," I say, strapping on my seatbelt.

  "Stuff you can't talk to me about?"

  "I'm not sure. And until I am, I'm not going to."

  "All right, I get it." She flips on the brights as she changes the topic. "Do you want to go over to the neighbor's tonight or in the morning?"

  I check the clock on the dash. "It's kind of late."

  "Quinton said they were awake and being obnoxious outside about an hour ago. If they're awake, it'd be good to get it over with."

  She's right, so I agree to take care of it if they're still outside when we arrive back to the motel.

  For the rest of the drive, the conversation is light. We chat about the documentary she's making and how my classes are going. She asks me about my job, and I ask her the same thing. But the entire time, I'm thinking about Avery.

  Avery.

  Avery.

  Avery.

  An echo in my head.

  Is she okay after what happened?

  God, I hope she's okay.

  I feel so different, as if something has altered my life. What makes Avery so different? It's not the same as how I felt with Nova. Yeah, Nova tried to change me, but I half-assed my transformation because I honestly didn't care. With Avery, I want to change, to protect her, to be a better person. But why?

  Why?

  Why?

  Why?

  "Oh, good, they're awake," Nova announces with a weary sigh as we park in front of our motel room.

  Only a few of the room lights are on, along with the bright green vacancy sign on the billboard next to the main office. Five doors down from ours, the neighbor and his girlfriend are outside, smoking and laughing on the porch. Their room door is open and music and the glow from their lamps filters out into the night.

  "Well, at least we can get this over with." When I push open the door to get out, the neighbors instantly look over at me and then frantically start whispering to each other.

  I'm a little irked about giving them any money at all because it's just going to go toward drugs and shit. But I don't want to deal with the drama.

  I go inside and find Quinton lying in bed, still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but his shoes are off and he's drawing in his sketchbook.

  "Are you sure you're up for this?" I ask when he sets his pencil down and sits up on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

  He nods, understanding my meaning. "What about you?"

  "Maybe." I dump the contents of my pockets out onto the table. "You know he's going to be a pain in the ass."

  "Yeah, we all were when we were on drugs." He stands up and slips on his shoes then hands me a small stack of money.

  "I'm going to pay you guys back," I say lamely as I add my own forty dollars to the stack to make it an even hundred.

  "Whatever." He brushes me off. "Let's go deal with the drama."

  Quinton tells Nova to stay inside, then we head outside and start toward the neighbors who are still rambling about something in front of their open door.

  "I don't even fucking know his name," I mutter as we approach them.

  "I think it's Zedd," Quinton replies as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

  "How'd you find that out?"

  "I heard his girlfriend screaming at him."

  I shake my head. God, it's like I've crossed back into the past. The feeling only amplifies when we reach Zedd and his girlfriend and I hand him the money.

  He counts it out then scowls. "This is only a hundred," he tells me with a tick in his jaw.

  "Like I told you I was going to pay you," I say, wondering if I was this big of an idiot when I was spun.

  Probably more.

  Shaking his head, he hands the bills to his girlfriend then crosses his thin arms and stares me down, attempting to be intimidating. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to get Skullman involved."

  "Yeah, I have a theory that this Skullman might be a figment of your imagination," Quinton says from beside me.

  Zedd's gaze cuts to Quinton. "Who the fuck are you?"

  "His backup." Quinton nods his head at me while
carrying Zedd's gaze.

  "Fuck you both," he says, eyeing us over. Worry flashes across his sunken in face when he notices we're in shape and not strung out, that we could easily beat his ass. "You're going to pay for this. You'll see. Skullman is real." Then he scampers inside and slams the door.

  "God, were we that stupid?" I ask as Quinton and I make our way back to our room.

  Quinton erupts with laughter. "Oh, yeah. Remember that whole ordeal with Trace?"

  "Yeah, but that was caused by my stupidity, not yours." I gaze up at the stars as I reach for my cigarettes in my shirt pocket.

  "We both dealt for him," he responds.

  I offer him a cigarette and he takes one. We stand out in front of the door in the dark, the night air warm and quiet.