I took a breath. "I'm glad you were there tonight, Pidge. I've never had so much fun at a fight in my life." The time it took her to respond felt like an eternity.
She perched her chin on my shoulder. "That was because you were trying to win our bet."
I turned to face her, looking straight in her eyes. "Damn right I was."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Is that why you were in such a bad mood today? Because you knew they'd fixed the boilers, and I would be leaving tonight?"
I got lost in her eyes for moment, and then decided that it was a good time to shut up. I ripped the engine and drove home, slower than I had driven . . . ever. When a stoplight caught us, I found a strange amount of joy in putting my hands on hers, or resting my hand on her knee. She didn't seem to mind, and admittedly, I was pretty fucking close to heaven.
We pulled up to the apartment, and Abby dismounted the bike like an old pro, and then walked to the steps.
"I always hate it when they've been home for a while. I feel like we're going to interrupt them."
"Get used to it. This is your place for the next four weeks," I said, turning around. "Get on."
"What?"
"C'mon, I'll carry you up."
She giggled and hopped onto my back. I gripped her thighs as I ran up the stairs. America opened the door before we made it to the top and smiled.
"Look at you two. If I didn't know better . . ."
"Knock it off, Mare," Shepley said from the couch.
Great. Shepley was in one of his moods.
America smiled as if she'd said too much, and then opened the door wide so we could both fit through. I kept hold of Pidge, and then fell against the recliner. She squealed when I leaned back, playfully pushing my weight against her.
"You're awfully cheerful this evening, Trav. What gives?" America prompted.
"I just won a shitload of money, Mare. Twice as much as I thought I would. What's not to be happy about?"
America grinned. "No, it's something else," she said, watching my hand as I patted Abby's thigh.
"Mare," Shepley warned.
"Fine. I'll talk about something else. Didn't Parker invite you to the Sig Tau party this weekend, Abby?"
The lightness I was feeling immediately went away, and I turned to Abby.
"Er . . . yeah? Aren't we all going?"
"I'll be there," Shepley said, distracted by the television.
"And that means I'm going," America said, looking expectantly at me. She was baiting me, hoping I would volunteer to come along, but I was more concerned with Parker asking Abby out on a fucking date.
"Is he picking you up or something?" I asked.
"No, he just told me about the party."
America's mouth spread into a mischievous grin, almost bobbing in anticipation. "He said he'd see you there, though. He's really cute."
I shot America an irritated glance, and then looked to Abby. "Are you going?"
"I told him I would." She shrugged. "Are you going?"
"Yeah," I said without hesitation. It wasn't a date party, after all, just a weekend kegger. Those I didn't mind. And no fucking way was I going to let Parker have an entire night with her. She'd come back . . . ugh, I didn't even wanna think about it. He'd flash his Abercrombie smile, or take her to his parents' restaurant to parade his money, or find some other way to sleaze into her pants.
Shepley looked at me. "You said last week you weren't."
"I changed my mind, Shep. What's the problem?"
"Nothing," he grumbled, retreating to his bedroom.
America frowned. "You know what the problem is," she said. "Why don't you quit driving him crazy and just get it over with." She joined Shepley in his room, and their voices were reduced to murmuring behind the closed door.
"Well, I'm glad everyone else knows," Abby said.
Abby wasn't the only one confused by Shepley's behavior. Earlier he was teasing me about her, and now he was being a little bitch. What could have happened between then and now that had him freaked out? Maybe he would feel better once he figured out that I'd finally decided I was done with the other girls and just wanted Abby. Maybe the fact that I had actually admitted to caring about her made Shepley worry even more. I wasn't exactly boyfriend material. Yep. That made more sense.
I stood. "I'm going to take a quick shower."
"Is there something going on with them?" Abby asked.
"No, he's just paranoid."
"It's because of us," she guessed.
A weird floating feeling came over me. She said us.
"What?" she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
"You're right. It's because of us. Don't fall asleep, okay? I wanna talk to you about something."
It took less than five minutes for me to wash up, but I stood under the stream of water for at least five more, planning what to say to Abby. Wasting more time wasn't an option. She was here for the next month, and that was the perfect time to prove to her that I wasn't who she thought I was. For her, at least, I was different, and we could spend the next four weeks dispelling any suspicions she might have.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off, excited and nervous as hell about what possibilities could spawn from the conversation we were about to have. Just before opening the door, I could hear a scuffle in the hall.
America said something, her voice desperate. I cracked open the door and listened.
"You promised, Abby. When I told you to spare judgment, I didn't mean for you two to get involved! I thought you were just friends!"
"We are," Abby said.
"No, you're not!" Shepley fumed.
America spoke, "Baby, I told you it will be fine."
"Why are you pushing this, Mare? I told you what's going to happen!"
"And I told you it won't! Don't you trust me?"
Shepley stomped into his room.
After a few seconds of silence, America spoke again. "I just can't get it into his head that whether you and Travis work out or not, it won't affect us. But he's been burned too many times. He doesn't believe me."
Dammit, Shepley. Not the ideal segue. I opened the door a bit more, just enough to see Abby's face.
"What are you talking about, Mare? Travis and I aren't together. We are just friends. You heard him earlier . . . he's not interested in me that way."
Fuck. This was getting worse by the minute.
"You heard that?" America asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"Well, yeah."
"And you believe it?"
Abby shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It'll never happen. He told me he doesn't see me like that, anyway. Besides, he's a total commitment-phobe, I'd be hard-pressed to find a girlfriend outside of you that he hasn't slept with, and I can't keep up with his mood swings. I can't believe Shep thinks otherwise."
Every bit of hope I'd had slipped away with her words. The disappointment was crushing. For a few seconds, the pain was unmanageable, until I let the anger take over. Anger was always easier to control.
"Because not only does he know Travis . . . he's talked to Travis, Abby."
"What do you mean?"
"Mare?" Shepley called from the bedroom.
America sighed. "You're my best friend. I think I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I see you two together, and the only difference between me and Shep and you and Travis is that we're having sex. Other than that? No difference."
"There is a huge, huge difference. Is Shep bringing home different girls every night? Are you going to the party tomorrow to hang out with a guy with definite dating potential? You know I can't get involved with Travis, Mare. I don't even know why we're discussing it."
"I'm not seeing things, Abby. You have spent almost every moment with him for the last month. Admit it, you have feelings for him."
I couldn't listen to another word. "Let it go, Mare," I said.
Both girls jumped at the sound of my voice. Abby's eyes met mine. She didn't seem embarrassed or sorry at all, which only
pissed me off more. I'd stuck my neck out, and she slit my throat.
Before I said something shitty, I retreated to my room. Sitting didn't help. Neither did standing, pacing, or push-ups. The walls closed in on me more every second. Rage boiled inside of me like an unstable chemical, ready to blow.
Getting out of the apartment was my only option, to clear my head, and try to relax with a few shots. The Red. I could go to the Red. Cami was working the bar. She could tell me what to do. She always knew how to talk me down. Trenton liked her for the same reason. She was the oldest sister of three boys, and didn't flinch when it came to our anger issues.
I slipped on a T-shirt and jeans, and then grabbed sunglasses, my bike keys, and riding jacket, and then shoved my feet inside my boots before heading back down the hall.
Abby's eyes widened when she saw me round the corner. Thank God I had on my shades. I didn't want her to see the hurt in my eyes.
"You're leaving?" she asked, sitting up. "Where are you going?"
I refused to acknowledge the pleading in her voice. "Out."
CHAPTER TEN
Broken
IT DIDN'T TAKE CAMI LONG TO FIGURE OUT I WASN'T good company. She kept the beers coming as I sat in my usual stool at the bar of The Red. Colors from the lights above chased one another around the room, and the music was almost loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
My pack of Marlboro Reds was nearly gone, but that wasn't the reason for the heavy feeling in my chest. A few girls had come and gone, trying to strike up conversation, but I couldn't lift my line of sight from the half-burnt cigarette nestled between two of my fingers. The ash was so long it was just a matter of time until it fell away, so I just watched the remaining embers flicker against the paper, trying to keep my mind off of what sinking feelings the music couldn't muffle.
When the crowd at the bar thinned, and Cami wasn't moving a thousand miles per hour, she sat an empty shot glass in front of me, and then filled it to the brim with Jim Beam. I grabbed for it, but she covered my black leather wristband with her tattooed fingers that spelled baby doll when she held her fists together.
"Okay, Trav. Let's hear it."
"Hear what?" I asked, making a feeble attempt to pull away.
She shook her head. "The girl?"
The glass touched my lips, and I tilted my head back, letting the liquid burn down my throat. "What girl?"
Cami rolled her eyes. "What girl. Seriously? Who do you think you're talking to?"
"All right, all right. It's Pigeon."
"Pigeon? You're joking."
I laughed once. "Abby. She's a pigeon. A demonic pigeon that fucks with my head so bad I can't think straight. Nothing makes sense anymore, Cam. Every rule I've ever made's getting broken one by one. I'm a pussy. No . . . worse. I'm Shep."
Cami laughed. "Be nice."
"You're right. Shepley's a good guy."
"Be nice to yourself, too," she said, throwing a rag on the counter and pushing it around in circles. "Falling for someone isn't a sin, Trav, Jesus."
I looked around. "I'm confused. You talking to me or Jesus?"
"I'm serious. So you have feelings for her. So what?"
"She hates me."
"Nah."
"No, I heard her tonight. By accident. She thinks I'm a scumbag."
"She said that?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, you kinda are."
I frowned. "Thanks a lot."
She held out her hands, her elbows on the bar. "Based on your past behavior, do you disagree? My point is . . . maybe for her, you wouldn't be. Maybe for her, you could be a better man." She poured another shot, and I didn't give her the chance to stop me before throwing it back.
"You're right. I've been a scumbag. Could I change? I don't fucking know. Probably not enough to deserve her."
Cami shrugged, holstering the bottle back in its spot. "I think you should let her be the judge of that."
I lit a cigarette, taking a deep breath, and adding my lungfuls of smoke to the already murky room. "Toss me another beer."
"Trav, I think you've had enough already."
"Cami, just fucking do it."
I WOKE UP WITH THE EARLY AFTERNOON SUN SHINING through the blinds, but it might as well have been noon in the middle of a white sand desert. My lids instantly closed, rejecting the light.
A combination of morning breath, chemicals, and cat piss stuck to the inside of my dry mouth. I hated the inevitable cotton mouth that came after a hard night of drinking.
My mind instantly searched for memories from the night before but came up with nothing. Some type of partying was a given, but where or with who was a complete mystery.
I looked to my left, seeing the covers pulled back. Abby was already up. My bare feet felt weird against the floor as I trudged down the hall and found Abby asleep in the recliner. Confusion made me pause, and then panic settled in. My brain sloshed through the alcohol still weighing down my thoughts. Why didn't she sleep in the bed? What had I done to make her sleep in the chair? My heart began beating fast, and then I saw them: two empty condom wrappers.
Fuck. Fuck! The night before came crashing back to me in waves: drinking more, those girls not going away when I told them to, and finally my offer to show them both a good time--at the same time--and their enthusiastic endorsement of the idea.
My hands flew up to my face. I'd brought them here. Bagged them here. Abby had probably heard everything. Oh, God. I couldn't have fucked up any worse. This was beyond bad. As soon as she woke, she would pack her shit and leave.
I sat on the couch, my hands still cupped over my mouth and nose, and watched her sleep. I had to fix this. What could I do to fix this?
One stupid idea after another flipped through my mind. Time was running out. As quietly as I could, I rushed to the bedroom and changed clothes, and then snuck into Shepley's room.
America stirred, and Shepley's head popped up. "What are you doing, Trav?" he whispered.
"I gotta borrow your car. Just for a sec. I have to go pick up a few things."
"Okay . . . ," he said, confused.
His keys jingled when I took them from his dresser, and then I paused. "Do me a favor. If she wakes up before I get back, stall, okay?"
Shepley took a deep breath. "I'll try, Travis, but man . . . last night was . . ."
"It was bad, wasn't it?"
Shepley's mouth pulled to the side. "I don't think she'll stay, cousin, I'm sorry."
I nodded. "Just try."
One last glance at Abby's sleeping face before I left the apartment spurred me to move faster. The Charger could barely keep up with the speed I wanted to go. A red light caught me just before I reached the market and I screamed, hitting the steering wheel.
"God dammit! Turn!"
A few seconds later, the light blinked from red to green, and the tires spun a few times before gaining traction.
I ran into the store from the parking lot, fully aware that I looked like a crazy person as I yanked a grocery cart from the rest. One aisle after another, I grabbed at things that I thought she'd like, or remembered her eating or even talking about. A pink spongy thing hung in a line off of one of the shelves, and that ended up in my basket, too.
An apology wasn't going to make her stay, but maybe a gesture would. Maybe she would see how sorry I was. I stopped a few feet away from the register, feeling hopeless. Nothing was going to work.
"Sir? Are you ready?"
I shook my head, despondent. "I don't . . . I don't know."
The woman watched me for a moment, shoving her hands in the pockets of her white-and-mustard-yellow-striped apron. "Can I help you find something?"
I pushed the cart to her register without responding, watching her scan all of Abby's favorite foods. This was the stupidest idea in the history of ideas, and the only woman alive that I gave a shit about was going to laugh at me while she packed.
"That'll be eighty-four dollars and seventy-seven cents."
A
short swipe of my debit card, and the sacks were in my hands. I bolted into the parking lot, and within seconds the Charger was getting the cobwebs blown out of her pipes all the way back to the apartment.
I took two steps at a time and blew through the door. America's and Shepley's heads were visible over the top of the couch. The television was on, but muted. Thank God. She was still asleep. The sacks crashed against the countertop when I sat them down, and I tried not to let the cabinets crash around too much as I put things away.
"When Pidge wakes up, let me know, okay?" I asked softly. "I got spaghetti, and pancakes, and strawberries, and that oatmeal shit with the chocolate packets, and she likes Fruity Pebbles cereal, right, Mare?" I asked, turning.
Abby was awake, staring at me from the chair. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes. She looked as bad as I felt. "Hey, Pigeon."
She watched me for a few seconds with a blank stare. I took a few steps into the living room, more nervous than I was the night of my first fight.
"You hungry, Pidge? I'll make you some pancakes. Or there's uh . . . there's some oatmeal. And I got you some of that pink foamy shit that girls shave with, and a hairdryer, and a . . . a . . . just a sec, it's in here." I grabbed one of the bags and took it into the bedroom, dumping it out onto the bed.
As I looked for that pink loofah thing I thought she'd like, Abby's luggage, full, zipped, and waiting by the door, caught my eye. My stomach lurched, and the cotton mouth returned. I walked down the hall, trying to keep myself together.
"Your stuff's packed."
"I know," she said.
Physical pain burned through my chest. "You're leaving."
Abby looked to America, who stared at me like she wanted me dead. "You actually expected her to stay?"
"Baby," Shepley whispered.
"Don't fucking start with me, Shep. Don't you dare defend him to me," America seethed.
I swallowed hard. "I am so sorry, Pidge. I don't even know what to say."
"Come on, Abby," America said. She stood and pulled on her arm, but Abby stayed seated.
I took a step, but America pointed her finger. "So help me God, Travis! If you try to stop her, I will douse you with gasoline and light you on fire while you sleep!"
"America," Shepley begged. This was going to get bad from all sides real quick.
"I'm fine," Abby said, overwhelmed.