No, scratch that. I wanted to wake up and feel something — anything but the way I felt then — going through the motions, smiling and joking around as if I actually had something to live for.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I looked down at the text.
Mom: If he calls don’t answer. He wants money. Love you. Mom.
“Hello, final straw,” I muttered under my breath as I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked over to the bar.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked as he mechanically shoved drinks in people’s faces and put tips in the jar in front of him.
“Whiskey.” I sat down and drummed my fingertips against the countertop. “And keep ‘em coming.”
Ten. The number of times I got hit on while getting drunk off my ass.
Three. The number of times a woman brushed up against me and tried to cop a feel.
Two. The number of hours I spent torturing myself with memories of her laugh, her scent, the way she’d always seemed to make me feel like I could do anything in the world.
One. The number of minutes it would have taken for me to run back into the cabin and grab her helmet.
Amazing. How one minute can define the rest of your life.
Yeah, clearly I still wasn’t drunk enough.
I lifted my hand but the bartender shook his head. “You’ve almost downed an entire fifth. I’m cutting you off.”
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
He didn’t even respond.
I stumbled to my feet and made my way outside. The crisp spring air didn’t sober me up. If anything it made me feel nauseated.
Shit. I’d ridden with Cee-Cee. Cursing, I pulled out my phone and called Lisa.
Her shame was mine.
Our shame was the same.
Our pasts aligned in a way that both disgusted me and endeared us to one another.
She didn’t answer.
I tried Lisa again.
And then desperation set in. I was cold, my buzz was starting to make me sway more on my feet, and a little voice inside me said that if I tried to walk back to campus I’d probably end up in the Sound face down with a belly full of water.
Shit, I was in a dark place.
I dialed Wes’s number.
He answered on the first ring.
“Gabe?”
“I need a ride.” I fought to keep the slur from my voice.
With a heavy sigh he answered, “Where you at?”
“Club by the school, uhh…” I started laughing hysterically. “Shit, I don’t know, why don’t you just ask NASA? You’re the great Wes Michels right? Screw it, I don’t need you.”
I pressed end and stumbled toward the sidewalk and fell on my ass, leaning my head on my knees.
The images kept flashing. First the blood, next the cameras going off and the reporters. God, the reporters. I’d freaked. I’d lost it in front of them.
Minutes went by, maybe an hour, who knew… and then I heard a horn honking and headlights in my face.
I put my hand up to block the light but it didn’t help.
Footsteps neared. I still couldn’t see.
And then a fist came flying for my jaw. I hit the pavement so hard I could have sworn one of my teeth fell out of my mouth.
“Get up, ass**le.”
Wes? Did he just punch me in the face? And call me an ass**le? I tried to laugh but my jaw hurt too damn bad.
“I said—” Wes grabbed me by my shirt and lifted my limp body off the ground. “Get. The. Hell. Up.” Another punch came, and then thankfully I blacked out.
Maybe if I prayed hard enough — I’d stay there, in the darkness. Maybe then my sins would be atoned for.
Chapter Thirteen
The dude was hostile, as if he was pissed that I was even sitting at his table let alone breathing on his plate. What was his problem? I could only imagine that all the piercings had damaged his brain cells — that is, if he was still in full possession of any. —Saylor
Saylor
“So, he’s…” I nodded then briefly looked away so I didn’t appear to interested, or curious, or creepy “Abrasive?” Lisa and I had gone into her bedroom and were sorting out what the schedule would look like for the remainder of the weeks we had to work at the place of our choice for at least sixty hours in order to earn a passing grade.
“That’s Gabe.” She laughed. “I promise he’s harmless.”
“Harmless?” I repeated in a mocking voice. Right, because all those tattoos and piercings matched with those killer eyes really screamed harmless.
Lisa closed her notebook and shrugged. “I swear he’s not as bad as he looks. He’s just… different, that’s all. Kind of had a rough life and all.”
“Please.” I snorted, hoping I didn’t sound like I was fishing for more information.
Lisa’s face fell as if I’d just slapped her.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t mean to be judgmental but, it’s just… life’s hard, you know? It’s what you make it.”
Lisa’s expression turned to something I’d seen my whole life. Pity. She reached for my arm and laid her hand on it. “I get what you’re saying, but, promise me not to make such snap judgments when you don’t even know what he’s going through. He’s protected me my whole life. I’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for me.”
“It’s fine.” I pulled away from her touch. “It’s not like you have to convince me to like him. I mean, for the most part we’ll be doing our work at the Home.” I licked my lips and started collecting my stuff and putting it in my shoulder bag. “And I’m sure you’re right. I’m sorry I said that about him.”
“It’s fine,” Lisa said with a much-too-quick smile and wave of her hand. “So, you’ll take Fridays and I’ll start this Saturday?”
“Sure.” I walked into the living room and looked around for Wes and Kiersten. They’d been watching a movie but must have gone to bed or something.
“Bye, Saylor.” Lisa called.
“Bye,” I said without looking back and opened the door walking out into the hall. I probably shouldn’t have opened my big fat mouth — another one of my bad habits. But where did she get off defending a guy like that? A guy who justified his actions by saying he’d had a rough life?
It pissed me off.
I hated it when people used excuses for their actions as if it was justification for being a complete and total loser.
It was the easy way out. The stupid way out. Which meant only one thing, I needed to stay the heck away from Gabe — he’d be toxic.