“I will. I promise. I just need to do this… for whatever the reason may be.”
“Then let me know if you need any help.”
“I will.” I hear someone say something in the background. “I’ll let you go. Want to go out to dinner later? I know the cupboards are in desperate need of restocking.”
“Sounds like a plan, but only if you let me pay.”
“No way—”
“Avery.”
“Fine,” I grimace. “But next time it’s on me. Deal?”
“Deal. See you at home.”
“Okay. And Jax?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the talk. You give good advice.”
“Anytime.” He sounds happy, and I don’t feel as bad for spilling my problems to him, but still wish I had someone else, someone older, someone who I didn’t mind relying on so much. “I feel like I don’t help enough.”
“You do. I promise.” We say our goodbyes and hang up.
I feel the slightest bit better after the phone conversation, but getting out of the car still proves to be problematic. Somehow though, I manage to get the door open and plant my feet on the ground. Then I grab the box of cupcakes and approach the door to his room. With a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders, then knock.
I can hear someone on the other side and I cross my fingers that no one else is here except Quinton and Tristan, like say, a drug dealer, druggies, or anything else that has to do with drugs.
Seconds later, the curtain on the window next to the door is drawn back and Quinton glances out. After I wave at him, he releases the curtain. Then I hear the chain drag and the door swings open.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Quinton asks. He’s wearing a tank top and I notice a tattoo on his arm that lists names along with: no one.
I wonder what it means.
I shift my attention away from his tattoo when he covers it with his hand, lifting my gaze to him. “I came here to see Tristan,” I tell him and then present the box of cupcakes. “And I brought treats.”
He glances at the unmade beds behind him then back at me. “I don’t think now’s a good time, Avery.”
I lower the box of cupcakes. “Nova sent me.”
His forehead furrows. “She did?” He retrieves his phone and checks the screen. “Yeah, okay. I guess I missed it when she texted me.” He peers over his shoulder at the beds again.
I wonder what Nova told him exactly.
“Is Tristan here?” I glance over his shoulder at the empty room.
“He’s in the shower.” He seems torn over something. “You sure you want to get into this, Avery? I mean, this kind of stuff is hard to deal with for most people.”
“You mean drug related stuff?” I ask, and he nods. Here’s your out, Avery. Take it and run. “I’ve never done drugs myself, but my mother’s drug of choice was heroin.” The words pour out of my mouth under no control of my own. “And crystal. And weed. And anything and everything that you could possibly smoke, shoot up, or snort.” I trace my collarbone along the inked words that bring me strength whenever I think about opening a bottle. Never forget the strength it took to free yourself. “And mine was, well it was alcohol.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him this other than it seems like the best place to start.
His attention lingers on the tattoo as I lower my fingers from the ink. “You sound a lot like Nova,” he says and by the admiration in his voice, I take it as a good thing.
“Nova’s had alcohol issues too?” I ask, adjusting the box of cupcakes to my side.
“No, she just has strength.” He backs away from the doorway and extends his arm out behind him to turn the television off. “And a lot of determination to help people like…” He trails off, scratching at the back of his neck with uneasiness.
“Like Tristan?”
“Yeah and others.”
I think he might be referring to himself, but I tell myself to deal with one person at a time. “So are you going to let me in or what?” I ask in an upbeat tone, attempting to improve the gloomy mood. “I’ll let you have one if you let me in.” I wiggle the box of cupcakes at him, trying to entice him with frosty goodness. “They even have little heart candies on them.”
He cracks a smile then moves back and motions me in. “Sure. Come on in.”
My feet feel as heavy as a bag of bricks as I enter the compact room. I can hear the shower running behind a closed door toward the back. Clothes are thrown about the floor and the dresser is cluttered with deodorant, perfume, cologne, and makeup. “Do you and Nova stay here too?” I ask Quinton as he closes the door.
He nods then takes a seat on a table in front of the window, drawing back the curtain, and letting warm sunlight trickle into the room. “Yeah, we bunk up to save money.”
“That’s pretty smart. Although it probably sucks for a few reasons.” I elevate my brows as I glance at the bed.
Quinton chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, just a little bit.”
After that, it grows awkwardly quiet, and when I hear the shower shut off, I almost feel thankful. Still, minutes tick by where no one speaks so I finally open the box of cupcakes, take one out for myself, and offer Quinton one. He grabs one then picks off the pink frosting before devouring the cake part.
“You ruined the best part,” I remark then lick a mouthful of frosting off mine.
He shrugs, peeling the wrapper down. “It’s too sweet…” He drifts off as the bathroom door opens up.
A cloud of steam exits first and then Tristan follows. He’s shirtless, all carved muscles and tattoos that are damp from the moisture in the air. His jeans sit low on his hips, and he has a towel in his hand that he’s using to dry his hair. He looks exhausted, bags under his bloodshot eyes, his shoulders hunched over. He also seems distracted, his gaze fixed on the brown carpet as he makes his way toward the bed.
“The showerhead fell off again,” he mutters before looking up. He immediately stops dead in his tracks, his expression hardening. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Okay, so maybe this was about me.
“Don’t be an asshole, Tristan,” Quinton cautions, getting to his feet. “You always get like this after…”
Tristan glares at Quinton. “I’ll be whatever I want to be.”
Quinton opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.