“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.