Wreck Me Read online

  But now Avery has taken that place.

  Part of me wants to sleep with Avery and see if it'll clear my head, but then again I already know her better than any other woman I've hooked up with, so I'm unsure how well that would work. Besides she seems very adamant about her no guy rule, so getting her to break it for me is probably impossible. And I'm not even sure if I want her to break it. Avery isn't like the usual type of woman I sleep with. She's not a druggie or a whore. She's not looking to get a fix. Not looking to kill time. Not looking for anything really, at least in the guy department. It was kind of the same way with Nova and fuck, maybe that's why I developed a thing for them both. Maybe I want more. But, like things proved with Nova, wanting more doesn't mean I'll necessarily get it.

  It's not until I spot Avery's Jeep pulling up that I realize just how big of a problem having her around is going to be. Because I get excited when I see her car and the feeling heightens when she gets out it. I can't take my eyes off her as she closes the door and glances around the property as if searching for something. I'm kind of hidden out of her sight, but I can see her perfectly and get a full view of the cut-off shorts she's wearing along with a tank top that's just low enough in the back that I can see part of that damn tattoo I desperately want to see.

  God, what I'd give to understand the meaning behind it.

  "Dude, you're bleeding all over the boards." Quinton's voice yanks me from my obsessive thoughts of Avery.

  He's standing on the other side of the table saw, staring down at my hand. I track his gaze and see blood covering the entire side of my hand and dribbling onto the board I'm holding.

  "Fuck." I drop the board and rotate my hand over, examining the deep gash. "I don't even know how the fuck that happened."

  "I think you scraped it on a nail," Quinton says, rounding the table saw.

  I wipe my hand on the side of my cargo shorts then wince from the sting. "Yeah, but I didn't even feel it."

  "That's because you were too busy staring." His implying gaze travels toward the driveway to Avery's Jeep.

  "No, I wasn't," I lie as I stare at the blood bubbling from the cut on the side of my hand.

  Quinton elevates his brows as he picks up a board. "Whatever you say."

  Between him and Nova always accusing me of having feelings for Avery, I'm starting to lose my cool.

  "And I said I wasn't staring at anyone or anything." I turn away and hike up the shallow dirt incline toward the cement foundation to find something to clean the cut up with.

  As I'm unraveling some paper towels from the roll I found near the drill saw, Avery turns the corner with her attention on her phone and she just about runs into me.

  "Oh, hey." She shuffles back, putting her phone away. She looks about as unenthused to see me as when she first bumped into me yesterday. "I didn't know you were back here."

  "Yeah, I was just getting some of these." I rip off the paper towels and dab the blood off the side of my hand.

  "Oh my God, what happened?" she asks, reaching for my hand.

  I almost pull away from her, but stop the moment her fingers wrap around my wrist as a soothing sensation lulls through my veins. "I cut it on a nail."

  When she leans down to inspect where my skin is sliced open, strands of her purple bangs fall into her face. I have the strangest urge to reach up and tuck them behind her ear, just so I can watch her watching me.

  Why does she see me so well?

  "You might need stitches," she mutters then peers up at me through her long, dark eyelashes. "We--you should definitely go to the doctor."

  I pull my hand away from hers then press the paper towels back over the bleeding area. "Trust me, I've had way worse cuts than this that I've never gotten stitches for." Besides, I can't afford a doctor, another reason why Nova is right--I do need to find a job.

  "But you could get a scar."

  "I have a ton of them already. What's one more?"

  Her fingers absentmindedly brush the hem of her tank top while she gazes over my shoulder, the sunlight reflecting in her hazel eyes. "I don't know..." She focuses back on me. "At least let me put some peroxide and a band aid on it."

  "I'm not sure you're going to find that stuff around here. Well, maybe a band aid, but not the peroxide."

  "I have some in my purse in my car."

  "You carry that stuff with you?"

  "Yeah, I like to be super prepared." Her laugh is off pitch then turns her back to me. "I'll be right back."

  I watch her leave, checking out her ass the entire time. Moments later, she's returning with a bottle of peroxide and a few band aids.

  "All right, give me your hand." She's put on a pair of sunglasses so I can't see her eyes anymore. I find myself a little saddened because I can no longer observe her while she's studying me.

  She removes the paper towel from the gash, briefly examining it before unscrewing the cap off the peroxide. "This might sting a little," she warns.

  "I can handle it," I assure her, but take a deep inhale anyway.

  She tips the bottle and douses the cut. I hardly move, even when the sizzling liquid stings my flesh. I'm more fixated on watching Avery take care of me. The way her fingers graze my skin and the way she's careful with everything. From her touch to the way she cradles my hand in hers is driving me mad in the best way possible. I can't even remember the last time someone did something like this for me and it makes me realize how much I've missed someone taking care of me.

  "There. All fixed up," she says when she presses the last band aid over the wound. "You'll be almost as good as new."

  I glance down at the band aid that has puppies on it. "Puppies?" I raise my hand and cock my brow. "Really?"

  "Hey, if anyone can pull it off, it's you." She bends over to collect the peroxide bottle and garbage from the ground. "I still think you should get stitches but it's your choice what you do." When she stands back upright, her expression gradually plummets as her gaze converges with mine, as if she sees something in my eyes that terrifies her. "But anyways, I better get back to work." She hitches her finger over her shoulder and steps away from me.

  It dawns on me then that I wanted to ask her stuff. It's why I ended up cutting my hand in the first place--because I was too fixated on her.

  "Avery, wait. Is everything--"

  "You should probably get back to work too," she cuts me off then spins on her heels, calling dismissively over her shoulder, "And make sure to take care of that cut."

  I stare down at my hand, feeling the sting of rejection. But I tell myself that it doesn't matter. It's just another wound. Nothing a scar won't fix.

  Chapter 9

  This is life, not a dream.

  Avery

  Flames circle me, singe at my flesh. It's so bright and yet so dark as the fire mixes with the smoke and melts the paint off the walls around me. I try to get up, but my body won't budge. My world is collapsing around me. My life is collapsing around me. I'm going to burn alive. I know it. Can feel it in the heaviness of my lungs.

  I'm going to burn alive.

  And it is all my fault.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Flames. Bright. Hot. I'm going. Drifting. Dying. My last breath is leaving my lungs and my final thoughts are going through my mind...

  Keep Mason safe for me.

  Keep Jax safe.

  Let them both have good lives.

  That's all I've ever wanted.

  I can feel my skin melting off like wax, but the pain is no longer there. Instead, I feel at peace as my world around shifts into something else. Something that used to calm me.

  The stars.

  Help me.

  Keep me.

  Put me back.

  Help.

  Help.

  Help.

  "Avery, can you hear me?"

  What are you trying to tell me?

  Please, just tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.

  "Avery, wake up."

  My eyes shoot open
and I jolt back, bumping my head on the back of the seat.

  "Oh my God, are you okay?"

  My attention whips to the passenger side of my Jeep. Tristan's friend Nova Reed is sitting in the seat with the door ajar. Her expression is laced with concern, and she has a power drill in her hand. It takes me a beat to process what's going on. Somehow I managed to fall asleep on the job. Thankfully, it's at the Habitat for Humanity one--the one I don't get paid for--so even though it's not the best situation, it could be worse. Way, way worse.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," I tell Nova, my eyelashes flitting against the sunlight as images of the fire still sting at my brain. Then I glance at a piece of paper on my lap and remember why I'd decided to eat lunch in the car.

  Because I felt like being alone.

  The note was on my doorstep this morning. A stupid note from the stupid bastard ex-husband of mine who right on cue upped his harassing phone calls to letters.

  Avery, we need to talk. It's important. I want to see Mason and you. Just let me see you guys, even if it's for a couple of minutes. You owe me that.

  He didn't sign it, probably knowing he'd be in deep shit if he did, but I recognized his handwriting. He can go fuck himself because he's not ever seeing Mason or me again. His visits aren't worth anything and I'll never, ever take my second chance and waste it on him.

  "Are you sure?" Nova asks me. "You look a little out of it. I could cover for you if you want to nap longer."

  I first met Nova while she was helping build my house. She's actually the one that introduced me to Tristan. She seems really sweet and nice, and like someone who I would have hung out with back when I still had dreams instead of nightmares.

  "No, you don't need to do that," I respond, even though I would rather be napping, if it didn't include nightmares. I probably got maybe two hours of sleep last night, my mind still too focused on a million different things. Like what happened with Mason and how guilty I feel about it. It's been a few days since the incident at his school but I haven't gotten over how upset he looked.

  "You look really tired," Nova subtly remarks. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

  "Everything's great," I promise her, balling up the empty sandwich bag my lunch was in while stifling a yawn. "I just had some finals last night and didn't get much sleep."

  "I didn't know you were taking classes." She fans her hand in front of her face as the blistering heat scorches down on us. "That's so cool, but how do you find time when you work and do this?"

  "I take classes online." I open the door to get out. "And thanks for waking me up by the way."

  "No problem," she replies, tightening the elastic around her side braid as we hike up the dirt driveway toward the house. "So when are finals over for you?"

  "I just finished my last one." I flick flakes of sawdust off the front of my purple tank top then adjust the hem lower to make sure the scars on my abdomen are concealed beneath the fabric. "But I only have a week off before fall semester starts."

  "Well, that sucks." She contemplates something as we weave around a small crew taking a smoke break and make our way toward the back area of the foundation. "How long until you graduate?"

  "Hopefully within the next year. I actually take five classes a semester so I'm pretty close to doing fast track. I was taking six at one point, but between my job and... stuff I just couldn't keep up."

  "It sounds like you have a lot on your plate." She takes her phone out and swipes her finger across the screen. Then she raises the phone like she's going to snap a picture. But then a red dot glows from the upper section of her phone and I realize she's recording something.

  "I do," I reply, wondering what the hell she's doing. "Why are you videotaping the yard?"

  She sweeps the camera across the land before shutting it off. "I just record things sometimes."

  "Like for fun?"

  "Well, fun and for documentaries. It's a hobby of mine."

  "That's actually pretty cool. Would I have seen anything that you've made?"

  "Nah, I'm not popular or anything. It's mostly for my own personal satisfaction, but I could show you some stuff sometime if you want."

  "That sounds like fun." I'm being honest too. It does sound fun, but I'm not sure I can picture myself hanging out and having fun with someone as carefree as Nova.

  Her eyes suddenly light up. "You know what we should do? Go out and do something fun on your short break from school. Then, afterward, you can come by and we can have like a movie night with Quinton and Tristan." That was her persuading argument the last time I went out with her, only that time was for a celebration. When I asked her what she was celebrating she simply said, "Life." I decided I liked her after she said it.

  The concept baffles me. The four of us hanging out, having fun, me letting my walls down, allowing them into my life, while what? I make Jax stay home and babysit Mason? While I bail on Mason? The concert caused enough guilt for me to last a lifetime. Plus I hate the idea of leaving the two of them home alone now that Conner has started calling me again.

  "Sorry, but I can't." Sighing, I gather my tool belt from the ground. "I have to work at the bar tonight and pretty much every night this week."

  "Well, that, like, double sucks." She plops on a hard hat then starts in the direction of where her boyfriend Quinton is working on the frame of the home. "Maybe this weekend instead?"

  I offer her the best smile I can as I loop the belt around my waist. "I'll have to check my schedule but, yeah, maybe."

  "Sounds good. Yay, I'm so excited!" She skips over to a half built wall, retrieving a hammer from the ground on her way.

  I watch her, feeling jealous as she wraps her arms around her boyfriend and places a kiss on his cheek. It's not because her boyfriend's hot or anything that I'm graced with the green monster. Well, he is, but my jealousy stems from the fact that Nova is about my age, living her life stress free. I'm jealous/envious and don't like myself very much because of it.

  Tearing my attention off the two of them, I put on a hardhat then return to my designated work area, by old Mister Shorty/Sexist. He greets my arrival with a dirty look then mutters something about women having it so easy, being able to take long breaks, before hammering the crap out of a board. I want to kick him and tell him how wrong he is, but bite my lip because the last thing I need is more stress in my life.

  I concentrate on hammering, which I'm getting better at doing. As the sounds of power tools and music overlap my thoughts, I end up zoning out while I work on finishing up the wall. I'm really getting into it when someone taps me on the shoulder. Startled, I drop the hammer and it almost lands on my foot.

  "Holy crap." I press my hand to my heart as I catch my breath. "You scared the shit out of me."

  Wilson, the foreman, chuckles. "Yeah, I can tell." He's quite a few years older than me and taller with facial hair, and he's wearing a hardhat. "Sorry about that. I said your name a few times but you didn't seem to hear me."

  "Must be the hardhat," I lie, bending down to scoop up the hammer from the ground.

  Wilson gives me another smile. He seems like a nice guy, at least nice enough to tolerate my spastic behavior. "Yeah, probably." He points at something over his shoulder, giving a quick glance at Mister Asshole. "I was wondering if you could help out over at the table saw?"

  "Seriously?" I ask with wariness as I slide the hammer into my belt. "You want me to work a large cutting tool after what I just did with the hammer?"

  He nods with reassurance. "Don't worry, there's someone already over there. You'll just be there to help."

  I wonder if Mister Asshole tattled on me?

  "Okay, I can do that."

  "Good. Thanks." Wilson checks off something on a clipboard then I maneuver around the tools and head to the table saw that's out back. It's not until I round the corner that I see who I'll be helping.

  Tristan.

  He's leaning over the table, sweat glistening across his bare chest and back as he runs a board carefully thro
ugh the blade. Every time he moves, every single one of his lean muscles tightens and ripples. The invisible pull instantly seizes me by the legs and nearly jerks them out from under me.

  What is it with this guy?

  Better yet, what is it with me whenever I look at this guy?

  I haven't spoken to him since a couple of mornings ago when I helped him with his cut. We've crossed paths a lot though but have just given each other polite smiles and waves, although he always looks like he wants to say more. He probably would if I didn't run off like there was a fire every time I was near him.

  But there's no avoiding him now, so I might as well get it over with.

  I slowly approach the table, observing him the entire way. The fact that he looks like he belongs in a construction porn fantasy doesn't make the situation any easier. I allow myself ten seconds to admire the view before I slip off the hardhat and as casually as I can, stroll up to him. He doesn't notice or hear me until he shuts off the saw and turns to set the board down.