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 f*cks 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 p-ssy. 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.
F*ck. F*ck! 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 f*cked 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 f*cking 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.
“What do you mean, you’re fine?” Shepley asked.
Abby rolled her eyes and gestured to me. “Travis brought women home from the bar last night, so what?”
My eyes closed, trying to deflect the pain. As much as I didn’t want her to leave, it had never occurred to me that she wouldn’t give a f*ck.
America frowned. “Huh-uh, Abby. Are you saying you’re okay with what happened?”
Abby glanced around the room. “Travis can bring home whoever he wants. It’s his apartment.”
I swallowed back the lump that was swelling in my throat. “You didn’t pack your things?”
She shook her head and looked at the clock. “No, and now I’m going to have to unpack it all. I still have to eat, and shower, and get dressed,” she said, walking into the bathroom.
America shot a death glare in my direction, but I ignored her and walked over to the bathroom door, tapping lightly. “Pidge?”
“Yeah?” she said, her voice weak.
“You’re staying?” I closed my eyes, waiting for punishment.
“I can go if you want me to, but a bet’s a bet.”
My head fell against the door. “I don’t want you to leave, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“Are you saying I’m released from the bet?”
The answer was easy, but I didn’t want to make her stay if she didn’t want to. At the same time, I was terrified to let her go. “If I say yes, will you leave?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t live here, silly,” she said. A small laugh floated through the wood of the door.
I couldn’t tell if she was upset or just tired from spending the night in the recliner, but if it was the former, there was no way I could let her walk away. I’d never see her again.
“Then no, the bet’s still in effect.”
“Can I take a shower, now?” she asked, her voice small.
“Yeah . . .”
America stomped into the hall and stopped just short of my face. “You’re a selfish bastard,” she growled, slamming Shepley’s door behind her.
I went into the bedroom, grabbed her robe and a pair of slippers, and then returned to the bathroom door. She was apparently staying, but kissing ass was never a bad idea.
“Pigeon? I brought some of your stuff.”
“Just set it on the sink. I’ll get it.”
I opened the door and set her things on the corner of the sink, looking to the floor. “I was mad. I heard you spitting out everything that’s wrong with me to America and it pissed me off. I just meant to go out and have a few drinks and try to figure some things out, but before I knew it, I was piss drunk and those girls . . .” I paused, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “I woke up this morning and you weren’t in bed, and when I found you on the recliner and saw the wrappers on the floor, I felt sick.”
“You could have just asked me instead of spending all that money at the grocery store just to bribe me to stay.”
“I don’t care about the money, Pidge. I was afraid you’d leave and never speak to me again.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said, sincere.
“I know you didn’t. And I know it doesn’t matter what I say now, because I f*cked things up . . . just like I always do.”
“Trav?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t drive drunk on your bike anymore, okay?”
I wanted to say more, to apologize again, and to tell her that I was crazy about her—and it was literally driving me insane because I didn’t know how to handle what I felt—but the words wouldn’t come. My thoughts could only focus on the fact that after everything that had happened, and everything I just said, the only thing she had to say was to scold me about driving home drunk.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, shutting the door.
I pretended to stare at the television for hours while Abby primped in the bathroom and bedroom for the frat party, and then decided to get dressed before she needed the bedroom.
A fairly wrinkle-free white shirt was hanging in the closet, so I grabbed it and a pair of jeans. I felt silly, standing in front of the mirror, struggling with the button at the wrist of the shirt. I finally gave up and rolled each sleeve to my elbow. That was more like me, anyway.
I walked down the hall and crashed into the couch again, hearing the bathroom door shut and Abby’s bare feet slapping against the floor.
My watch barely moved, and of course nothing was on TV except daring weather rescues and an infomercial about the Slap Chop. I was nervous and bored. Not a good combination for me.
When my patience ran out, I knocked on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” Abby called from the other side of the door.
She stood in the middle of the room, a pair of heels sitting side by side on the floor in front of her. Abby was always beautiful, but tonight not a single hair was out of place; she looked like she should be on the cover of one of those fashion magazines you see in the checkout line of the grocery store. Every part of her was lotioned, smooth, polished perfection. Just the sight of her nearly knocked me on my ass. All I could do was stand there, dumbfounded, until I finally managed to form a single word.
“Wow.”
She smiled, and looked down at her dress.
Her sweet grin snapped me back to reality. “You look amazing,” I said, unable to take my eyes off her.
She bent over to help one foot into her shoe, and then the other. The skintight, black fabric moved slightly upward, exposing just half an inch more of her thighs.
Abby stood and gave me a quick once-over. “You look nice, too.”
I shoved my hands in my pocket, refusing to say, I might be falling for you at this very moment, or any of the other stupid things that were bombarding my mind.
I stuck out my elbow, and Abby took it, letting me escort her down the hall to the living room.
“Parker is going to piss himself when he sees you,” America said. Overall America was a good girl, but I was finding out how nasty she could be if you were on her bad side. I tried not to trip her as we walked to Shepley’s Charger, and I kept my mouth shut the entire trip to the Sig Tau house.
The moment Shepley opened the car door, we could hear the loud and obnoxious music from the house. Couples were kissing and mingling; freshmen pledges were running around, trying to keep the damage to the yard at a minimum, and sorority girls carefully walked by hand in hand, in tiny hops, trying to walk across the soft grass without sinking their stilettos.
Shepley and I led the way, with America and Abby just behind us. I kicked a red plastic cup out of the way, and then held the door open. Once again, Abby was totally oblivious to my gesture.
A stack of red cups sat on the kitchen counter beside the keg. I filled two and brought one to Abby. I leaned into her ear. “Don’t take these from anyone but me or Shep. I don’t want anyone slipping something in your drink.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one is going to put anything in my drink, Travis.”
She clearly wasn’t familiar with some of my frat brothers. I’d heard stories about no one in particular. Which was a good thing, because if I’d ever caught anyone pulling that shit, I would beat the shit out of them without hesitation.
“Just don’t drink anything that doesn’t come from me, okay? You’re not in Kansas anymore, Pigeon.”
“I haven’t heard that one before,” she snapped, throwing back half the cup of beer before she pulled the plastic away from her face. She could drink, I’d give her that.
We stood in the hallway by the stairs, trying to pretend everything was fine. A few of my frat brothers stopped by to chat as they came down the stairs, and so did a few sorority sisters, but I quickly dismissed them, hoping Abby would notice. She didn’t.
“Wanna dance?” I asked, tugging on her hand.
“No thanks,” she said.
I couldn’t blame her, after the night before. I was lucky she was speaking to me at all.
Her thin, elegant fingers touched my shoulder. “I’m just tired, Trav.”
I put my hand on hers, ready to apologize again, to tell her that I hated myself for what I’d done, but her eyes drifted away from mine to someone behind me.
“Hey, Abby! You made it!”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Parker Hayes.
Abby’s eyes lit up, and she pulled her hand out from under mine in one quick movement. “Yeah, we’ve been here for an hour or so.”
“You look incredible!” he yelled.
I made a face at him, but he was so preoccupied with Abby, he didn’t notice.
“Thanks!” She smiled.
It occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one that could make her smile that way, and suddenly I was working to keep my temper in check.
Parker nodded toward the living room and smiled. “You wanna dance?”
“Nah, I’m kinda tired.”
A tiny bit of relief dulled my anger a bit. It wasn’t me; she really was just too tired to dance, but the anger didn’t take long to return. She was tired because she was kept up half the night by the sounds of whoever I’d brought home, and the other half of the night she’d slept in the recliner. Now Parker was here, sweeping in as the knight in shining armor like he always did. Rat bastard.
Parker looked at me, unfazed by my expression. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind,” I said, trying very hard not to punch him and obliterate four years of orthodontic work.
“I see that,” Parker said, looking to Abby. “You wanna get some air?”
She nodded, and I felt like someone had knocked the air out of me. She followed Parker up the stairs. I watched as he paused, reaching to take her hand as they climbed to the second floor. When they reached the top, Parker opened the doors to the balcony.
Abby disappeared, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the screaming in my head. Everything in me said to go up there and take her back. I gripped the banister, holding myself back.
“You look pissed,” America said, touching her red cup to mine.
My eyes popped open. “No. Why?”
She made a face. “Don’t lie to me. Where’s Abby?”
“Upstairs. With Parker.”
“Oh.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. She’d only been there a little over an hour, and already had that familiar glaze in her eyes. “You’re jealous.”
I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with someone else besides Shepley being so direct with me. “Where’s Shep?”
America rolled her eyes. “Doing his freshman duties.”
“At least he doesn’t have to stay after and clean up.”
She lifted the cup to her mouth and took a sip. I wasn’t sure how she could already have a nice buzz drinking like that.
“So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Jealous?”
I frowned. America wasn’t usually so obnoxious. “No.”
“Number two.”
“Huh?”
“That’s lie number two.”
I looked around. Shepley would surely rescue me soon.
“You really f*cked up last night,” she said, her eyes suddenly clear.
“I know.”
She squinted, glaring at me so intensely that I wanted to shrink back. America Mason was a tiny blond thing, but she was intimidating as f*ck when she wanted to be. “You should walk away, Trav.” She looked up, to the top of the stairs. “He’s what she thinks she wants.”
My teeth clenched together. I already knew that, but it was worse hearing it from America. Before that, I thought maybe she’d be okay with me and Abby, and that somehow meant I wasn’t a complete dick for pursuing her. “I know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you do.”
I didn’t reply, trying not to make eye contact with her. She grabbed my chin with her hand, squashing my cheeks against my teeth.
“Do you?”
I tried to speak, but her fingers were now squishing my lips together. I jerked back, and then batted her hand away. “Probably not. I’m not exactly notorious for doing the right thing.”
America watched me for a few seconds, and then smiled. “Okay, then.”
“Huh?”
She slapped my cheek, and then pointed at me. “You, Mad Dog, are exactly what I came here to protect her from. But you know what? We’re all broken some way or another. Even with your epic f*ckup, you just might be exactly what she needs. You get one more chance,” she said, holding up her index finger an inch from my nose. “Just one. Don’t mess it up . . . you know . . . more than usual.”
America sauntered away, and then disappeared down the hall.
She was so weird.
The party played out as they usually do: drama, a fight or two, girls getting in a tiff, a couple or two getting in an argument resulting in the female leaving in tears, and then the stragglers either passing out or vomiting in an undesignated area.
My eyes drifted to the top of the stairs more times than they should have. Even though the girls were practically begging me to take them home, I kept watch, trying not to imagine Abby and Parker making out, or even worse, him making her laugh.
“Hey, Travis,” a high-pitched, singsong voice called from behind me. I didn’t turn around, but it didn’t take long for the girl to weave herself into my line of sight. She leaned against the wooden posts of the banister. “You looked bored. I think I should keep you company.”
“Not bored. You can go,” I said, checking the top of the stairs again. Abby stood on the landing, her back to the stairs.
She giggled. “You’re so funny.”
Abby breezed past me, down the hall to where America stood. I followed, leaving the drunk girl to talk to herself.
“You guys go ahead,” Abby said with subdued excitement. “Parker offered me a ride home.”
“What?” America said, her tired eyes lit like double bonfires.
“What?” I said, unable to contain my irritation.
America turned. “Is there a problem?”
I glared at her. She knew exactly what my problem was. I took Abby by the elbow and pulled her around the corner.
“You don’t even know the guy.”
Abby pulled her arm away. “This is none of your business, Travis.”
“The hell if it’s not. I’m not letting you ride home with a complete stranger. What if he tries something on you?”
“Good! He’s cute!”
I couldn’t believe it. She was really falling for his game. “Parker Hayes, Pidge? Really? Parker Hayes. What kind of name is that, anyway?”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Stop it, Trav. You’re being a jerk.”
I leaned in, livid. “I’ll kill him if he touches you.”
“I like him.”
It was one thing to assume she was fooled, it was another to hear her admit it. She was too good for me—damn sure too good for Parker Hayes. Why was she getting all giddy over that idiot? My face tensed in reaction to the rage flowing through my veins. “Fine. If he ends up holding you down in the backseat of his car, don’t come crying to me.”
Her mouth popped open, she was offended and furious. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” she said, shouldering past me.
I realized what I’d said, and then grabbed her arm and sighed, not quite turning around. “I didn’t mean it, Pidge. If he hurts you—if he even makes you feel uncomfortable—you let me know.”
Her shoulders fell. “I know you didn’t. But you have got to curb this overprotective big-brother thing you’ve got going on.”
I laughed once. She really didn’t get it. “I’m not playing the big brother, Pigeon. Not even close.”
Parker rounded the corner and pushed his hands inside his pockets. “All set?”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Abby said, taking Parker’s arm.
I fantasized about running up behind him and shoving my elbow in the back of his head, but then Abby turned and saw me staring him down.
Stop it, she mouthed. She walked with Parker, and he held the door open for her. A wide smile spread across her face in appreciation.
Of course. When he did it, she noticed.