Walking Disaster (Beautiful Disaster #2)

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 fucking 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 fuck.

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?”

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