Chapter eight

Oz

ABBY PASSED OUT BEFORE I DID. HER BREATHING evened out, and her body relaxed against mine. She was warm, and her nose made the slightest, sweetest buzzing noise when she inhaled. Her body in my arms felt way too good. It was something I could get used to far too easily. As scared as that made me, I couldn’t move.

Knowing Abby, she would wake up and remember she was a hard-ass, and yell at me for letting it happen or, worse, resolve to never let it happen again.

I wasn’t stupid enough to hope, or strong enough to stop myself from feeling the way I did. Total eye-opener. Not so tough, after all. Not when it came to Abby.

My breathing slowed, and my body sank into the mattress, but I fought the fatigue that steadily overtook me. I didn’t want to close my eyes and miss even a second of what it felt like to have Abby so close.

She stirred, and I froze. Her fingers pressed into my skin, and then she hugged herself up against me once before relaxing again. I kissed her hair, and leaned my cheek against her forehead.

Closing my eyes for just a moment, I took a breath.

I opened my eyes again, and it was morning. Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have.

Abby was wiggling around, trying to unwedge herself out from under me. My legs were on top of hers, and my arm still held her.

“Stop it, Pidge. I’m sleepin’,” I said, pulling her closer.

She pulled her limbs out from under me, one at a time, and then sat on the bed and sighed.

I slid my hand across the bed, reaching the tips of her small, delicate fingers. Her back was to me, and she didn’t turn around.

“What’s wrong, Pigeon?”

“I’m going to get a glass of water. You want anything?”

I shook my head, and closed my eyes. Either she was going to pretend it didn’t happen, or she was pissed. Neither option a good one.

Abby walked out, and I lay there a while, trying to find the motivation to move. Hangovers sucked, and my head was pounding. I could hear Shepley’s muffled, deep voice, so I decided to drag my ass out of bed.

My bare feet slapped against the wood floor as I trudged into the kitchen. Abby stood in my T-shirt and boxers, pouring chocolate syrup into a steaming bowl of oatmeal.

“That’s sick, Pidge,” I grumbled, trying to blink the blur from my eyes.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“I hear your birthday is coming up. Last stand of your teenage years.”

She made a face, caught off guard. “Yeah . . . I’m not a big birthday person. I think Mare is going to take me to dinner or something.” She smiled. “You can come if you want.”

I shrugged, trying to pretend her smile hadn’t gotten to me. She wanted me there. “All right. It’s a week from Sunday?”

“Yes. When’s your birthday?”

“Not ’til April. April first,” I said, pouring milk on top of my cereal.

“Shut up.”

I took a bite, amused at her surprise. “No, I’m serious.”

“Your birthday is on April Fools’?”

I laughed. The look on her face was priceless. “Yes! You’re gonna be late. I better get dressed.”

“I’m riding with Mare.”

That small rejection was a lot harder to hear than it should have been. She had been riding to campus with me, and suddenly she was riding with America? It made me wonder if it was because of what had happened the night before. She was probably trying to distance herself from me again, and that was nothing less than disappointing. “Whatever,” I said, turning my back to her before she could see the disappointment in my eyes.

The girls grabbed their backpacks in a hurry. America tore out of the parking lot like they had just robbed a bank.

Shepley walked out of his bedroom, pulling a T-shirt over his head. His eyebrows pushed together.

“Did they just leave?”

“Yeah,” I said absently, rinsing my cereal bowl and dumping Abby’s leftover oatmeal in the sink.

She’d barely touched it.

“Well, what the hell? Mare didn’t even say goodbye.”

“You knew she was going to class. Quit being a crybaby.”

Shepley pointed to his chest. “I’m the crybaby? Do you remember last night?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s what I thought.” He sat on the couch and slipped on his sneakers. “Did you ask Abby about her birthday?”

“She didn’t say much, except that she’s not into birthdays.”

“So what are we doing?”

“Throwing her a party.” Shepley nodded, waiting for me to explain. “I thought we’d surprise her. Invite some of our friends over and have America take her out for a while.”

Shepley put on his white ball cap, pulling it down so low over his brows I couldn’t see his eyes. “She can manage that. Anything else?”

“How do you feel about a puppy?”

Shepley laughed once. “It’s not my birthday, bro.”

I walked around the breakfast bar and leaned my hip against the stool. “I know, but she lives in the dorms. She can’t have a puppy.”

“Keep it here? Seriously? What are we going to do with a dog?”

“I found a cairn terrier online. It’s perfect.”

“A what?”

“Pidge is from Kansas. It’s the same kind of dog Dorothy had in The Wizard of Oz.”

Shepley’s face was blank. “The Wizard of Oz.”

“What? I liked the scarecrow when I was a little kid, shut the fuck up.”

“It’s going to crap everywhere, Travis. It’ll bark and whine and . . . I don’t know.”

“So does America . . . minus the crapping.”

Shepley wasn’t amused.

“I’ll take it out and clean up after it. I’ll keep it in my room. You won’t even know it’s here.”

“You can’t keep it from barking.”

“Think about it. You gotta admit it’ll win her over.”

Shepley smiled. “Is that what this is all about? You’re trying to win over Abby?”

My brows pulled together. “Quit it.”

His smile widened. “You can get the damn dog . . .”

I grinned. Yes! Victory! “. . . if you admit you have feelings for Abby.”

I frowned. Fuck! Defeat! “C’mon, man!”

“Admit it,” Shepley said, crossing his arms. What a tool. He was actually going to make me say it.

I looked to the floor and everywhere else except Shepley’s smug ass smile. I fought it for a while, but the puppy was fucking brilliant. Abby would flip out (in a good way for once), and I could keep it at the apartment. She’d want to be there every day.

“I like her,” I said through my teeth.

Shepley held his hand to his ear. “What? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You’re an asshole! Did you hear that?”

Shepley crossed his arms. “Say it.”

“I like her, okay?”

“Not good enough.”

“I have feelings for her. I care about her. A lot. I can’t stand it when she’s not around. Happy?”

“For now,” he said, grabbing his backpack off the floor. He slung one strap over his shoulder, and then picked up his cell phone and keys. “See you at lunch, pussy.”

“Eat shit,” I grumbled.

Shepley was always the idiot in love acting like a fool. He was never going to let me live this down.

It only took a couple of minutes to get dressed, but all that talking had me running late. I slipped on my leather jacket and put my ball cap on backward. My only class that day was Chem II, so bringing my bag wasn’t necessary. Someone in class would let me borrow a pencil if we had a quiz.

Sunglasses. Keys. Phone. Wallet. I slipped on my boots and slammed the door behind me, trotting down the stairs. Riding the Harley wasn’t nearly as appealing without Abby on the back. Dammit, she was ruining everything.

On campus, I walked a little faster than usual to make it to class on time. With just a second to spare, I slipped into the desk. Dr. Webber rolled her eyes, unimpressed with my timing, and probably a little irritated with my lack of materials. I winked, and the slightest smile touched her lips. She shook her head, and then returned her attention to the papers on her desk.

A pencil wasn’t necessary, and once we were dismissed, I took off toward the cafeteria.

Shepley was waiting for the girls in the middle of the greens. I grabbed his ball cap, and before he could take it back, I tossed it like a Frisbee across the lawn.

“Nice, dick,” he said, walking the few feet to pick it up.

“Mad Dog,” someone called behind me. I knew from the scruffy, deep voice who it was.

Adam approached Shepley and me, his expression all business. “I’m trying to set up a fight. Be ready for a phone call.”

“We always are,” Shepley said. He was sort of my business manager. He took care of getting the word out, and he made sure I was in the right place at the right time.

Adam nodded once, and then left for his next destination, whatever that was. I had never been in a class with the guy. I wasn’t even sure if he really went to school here. As long as he paid me, I guess I didn’t really care.

Shepley watched Adam walk away, and then cleared his throat. “So did you hear?”

“What?”

“They fixed the boilers at Morgan.”

“So?”

“America and Abby will probably pack up tonight. We’re going to be busy helping them move all their shit back to the dorms.”

My face fell. The thought of packing Abby up and taking her back to Morgan felt like a punch in the face. Especially after the night before, she’d probably be happy to leave. She might not even speak to me again. My mind flashed through a million scenarios, but I couldn’t think of anything to get her to stay.

“You okay, man?” Shepley asked.

The girls appeared, giggly and smiling. I tried a smile, but Abby was too busy being embarrassed by whatever America was laughing about.

“Hey, baby,” America said, kissing Shepley on the mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Shepley asked.

“Oh, a guy in class was staring at Abby all hour. It was adorable.”

“As long as he was staring at Abby.” Shepley winked.

“Who was it?” I asked before thinking.

Abby shifted her weight, readjusting her backpack. It was overflowing with books, the zipper barely containing the contents. It must have been heavy. I slipped it off her shoulder.

“Mare’s imagining things,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Abby! You big fat liar! It was Parker Hayes, and he was being so obvious. The guy was practically drooling.”

My face twisted. “Parker Hayes?”

Shepley pulled on America’s hand. “We’re headed to lunch. Will you be enjoying the fine cafeteria cuisine this afternoon?”

America kissed him again in answer, and Abby followed behind, prompting me to do the same. We walked together in silence. She was going to find out about the boilers, they would move back to Morgan, and Parker would ask her out.

Parker Hayes was a cream puff, but I could see Abby being interested in him. His parents were stupid rich, he was going to med school, and on the surface he was a nice guy. She was going to end up with him.

The rest of her life with him played out in my head, and it was all I could do to calm down. The mental image of tackling my temper and shoving it into a box helped.

Abby placed her tray between America and Finch. An empty chair a few seats down was a better choice for me than attempting to carry on a conversation like I hadn’t just lost her. This was going to suck, and I didn’t know what to do. So much time had been wasted playing games. Abby didn’t have a chance to even get to know me. Hell, even if she had, she was probably better off with someone like Parker.

“Are you okay, Trav?” Abby asked.

“Me? Fine, why?” I asked, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling that settled in every muscle of my face.

“You’ve just been quiet.”

Several members of the football team approached the table and sat down, laughing loudly. Just the sounds of their voices made me want to punch a wall.

Chris Jenks tossed a French fry onto my plate. “What’s up, Trav? I heard you bagged Tina Martin.

She’s been raking your name through the mud today.”

“Shut up, Jenks,” I said, keeping my eyes on my food. If I looked up at his ridiculous fucking face, I might have knocked him out of his chair.

Abby leaned forward. “Knock it off, Chris.”

I looked up at Abby, and for a reason I couldn’t explain, became instantly angry. What the fuck was she defending me for? The second she found out about Morgan, she was going to leave me. She’d never talk to me again. Even though it was crazy, I felt betrayed. “I can take care of myself, Abby.”

“I’m sorry, I . . .”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I don’t want you to be anything,” I snapped. Her expression was the final straw. Of course she didn’t want to be around me. I was an infantile asshole that had the emotional control of a three-year-old. I shoved away from the table and pushed through the door, not stopping until I was sitting on my bike.

The rubber grips on the handlebars whined under my palms as I twisted my hands back and forth. The engine snarled, and I kicked back the kickstand before taking off like a bat out of hell into the street.

I rode around for an hour, feeling no better than before. The streets were leading to one place, though, and even though it took me that long to give in and just go, I finally pulled into my father’s driveway.

Dad walked out of the front door and stood on the porch, giving a short wave.

I took both of the porch stairs at once and stopped just short of where he stood. He didn’t hesitate to pull me against his soft, rounded side, before escorting me inside.

“I was just thinking it was about time for a visit,” he said with a tired smile. His eyelids hung over his lashes a bit, and the skin beneath his eyes was puffy, matching the rest of his round face.

Dad checked out for a few years after Mom died. Thomas took on a lot more responsibilities than a kid his age should have, but we made do, and finally Dad snapped out of it. He never talked about it, but he never missed a chance to make it up to us.

Even though he was sad and angry for most of my formative years, I wouldn’t consider him a bad father, he was just lost without his wife. I knew how he felt, now. I felt maybe a fraction for Pidge what Dad felt for Mom, and the thought of being without her made me feel sick.

He sat on the couch and gestured to the worn-out recliner. “Well? Have a seat, would ya?”

I sat, fidgeting while trying to figure out what I would say.

He watched me for a while before taking a breath. “Something wrong, son?”

“There’s a girl, Dad.”

He smiled a bit. “A girl.”

“She kinda hates me, and I kinda . . .”

“Love her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean . . . how do you know?”

His smile grew wider. “When you’re talking about her with your old dad because you don’t know what else to do.”

I sighed. “I just met her. Well, a month ago. I don’t think it’s love.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said without judgment.

“I just . . . I don’t think I’m good for her.”

Dad leaned forward, then touched a couple of fingers to his lips.

I continued. “I think she’s been burned by someone before. By someone like me.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah.” I nodded and sighed. The last thing I wanted was to admit to Dad what I’d been up to.

The front door slammed against the wall. “Look who decided to come home,” Trenton said with a wide grin. He hugged two brown paper sacks to his chest.

“Hey, Trent,” I said, standing. I followed him into the kitchen and helped him put Dad’s groceries away.

We took turns elbowing and shoving each other. Trenton had always been the hardest on me as far as kicking my ass when we disagreed, but I was also closer to him than I was to my other brothers.

“Missed you at the Red the other night. Cami says hi.”

“I was busy.”

“With that girl Cami saw you with the other night?”

“Yeah,” I said. I pulled out an empty ketchup bottle and some molding fruit from the fridge and tossed them in the garbage before we returned to the front room.

Trenton bounced a few times when he fell into the couch, slapping his knees. “What’ve you been up to, loser?”

“Nothin’,” I said, glancing at Dad.

Trenton looked to our father, and then back at me. “Did I interrupt?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

Dad waved him away. “No, son. How was work?”

“It sucked. I left the rent check on your dresser this morning. Did you see it?”

Dad nodded with a small smile.

Trenton nodded once. “You stayin’ for dinner, Trav?”

“Nah,” I said, standing. “I think I’m just going to head home.”

“I wish you’d stay, son.”

My mouth pulled to the side. “I can’t. But, thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

“You appreciate what?” Trenton asked. His head pivoted from side to side like he was watching a tennis match. “What’d I miss?”

I looked at my father. “She’s a pigeon. Definitely a pigeon.”

“Oh?” Dad said, his eyes brightening a bit.

“The same girl?”

“Yeah, but I was kind of a dick to her earlier. She kind of makes me feel crazy-er.”

Trenton’s smile started small, and then slowly stretched the entire width of his face. “Little brother!”

“Quit.” I frowned.

Dad smacked Trent on the back of the head.

“What?” Trenton cried. “What’d I say?”

Dad followed me out the front door and patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. I have no doubt. She must be something, though. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I leaned in, wrapping my arms around his large frame as best I could, and then headed for the Harley.

The ride back to the apartment felt like it took forever. Just a hint of warm summer air remained, uncharacteristic for the time of year, but welcome. The night sky draped darkness all around me, making the dread even worse. I saw America’s car parked in her usual spot and was immediately nervous. Each step felt like a foot closer to death row.

Before reaching the door, it flew open, and America stood with a blank look on her face.

“Is she here?”

America nodded. “She’s asleep in your room,” she said softly.

I slipped past her and sat on the couch. Shepley was on the love seat, and America plopped down beside me.

“She’s okay,” America said. Her voice was sweet and reassuring.

“I shouldn’t have talked to her like that,” I said. “One minute I’m pushing her as far as I can to piss her off, and the next I’m terrified she’ll wise up and cut me out of her life.”

“Give her some credit. She knows exactly what you’re doing. You’re not her first rodeo.”

“Exactly. She deserves better. I know that, and at the same time I can’t walk away. I don’t know why,” I said with a sigh, rubbing my temples. “It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this makes sense.”

“Abby gets it, Trav. Don’t beat yourself up,” Shepley said. America nudged my arm with her elbow. “You’re already going to the date party. What’s the harm in asking her out?”

“I don’t want to date her; I just want to be around her. She’s . . . different.” It was a lie. America knew it, and I knew it. The truth was, if I really cared about her, I’d leave her the hell alone.

“Different how?” America asked, sounding irritated.

“She doesn’t put up with my bullshit, it’s refreshing. You said it yourself, Mare. I’m not her type. It’s just not . . . like that with us.” Even if it was, it shouldn’t be.

“You’re closer to her type than you know,” America said.

I looked into America’s eyes. She was completely serious. America was like a sister to Abby, and protective like a mother bear. They would never encourage anything for each other that could be hurtful.

For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope.

The wooden boards creaked in the hall, and we all froze. My bedroom door shut, and then Abby’s footsteps sounded in the hall.

“Hey, Abby,” America said with a grin. “How was your nap?”

“I was out for five hours. That’s closer to a coma than a nap.”

Her mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was matted against her head. She was stunning.

She smiled at me, and I stood, took her hand, and led her straight to the bedroom. Abby looked confused and apprehensive, making me even more desperate to make amends.

“I’m so sorry, Pidge. I was an asshole to you earlier.”

Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t know you were mad at me.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I just have a bad habit of lashing out at those I care about. It’s a piss-poor excuse, I know, but I am sorry,” I said, enveloping her in my arms.

“What were you mad about?” she asked, nestling her cheek into my chest. Damn, that felt so good. If I wasn’t a dick, I would have explained to her that I knew the boilers had been fixed, and the thought of her leaving here and spending more time with Parker scared the shit out of me, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“It’s not important. The only thing I’m worried about is you.”

She looked up at me and smiled. “I can handle your temper tantrums.”

I scanned her face for several moments before a small smile spread across my lips. “I don’t know why you put up with me, and I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Her eyes slowly fell from my eyes to my lips, and her breath caught. Every hair on my skin stood on end, and I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or not. I leaned in less than a centimeter, waiting to see if she would protest, but then my fucking phone rang. We both jumped.

“Yeah,” I said impatiently.

“Mad Dog. Brady will be at Jefferson in ninety.”

“Hoffman? Jesus . . . all right. That’ll be an easy grand. Jefferson?”

“Jefferson,” Adam said. “You in?”

I looked at Abby and winked. “We’ll be there.” I hung up, stuck my phone in my pocket, and grabbed Abby’s hand. “Come with me.”

I led her to the living room. “That was Adam,” I said to Shepley. “Brady Hoffman will be at Jefferson in ninety minutes.”