CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Not Good for Anybody
THE NEXT WEEK SEEMED ENDLESS. AMERICA AND I DECIDED it would be best if she stayed at Morgan for a while. Shepley reluctantly agreed. Abby missed all three days of history and found somewhere else other than the cafeteria to eat. I tried to catch up with her after a few of her classes, but she either never went to them or had left early. She wouldn’t answer her phone.
Shepley assured me that she was okay, and nothing had happened to her. As agonizing as it was to know I was two degrees from Abby, it would have been worse to be cut off from her completely and have no idea if she was dead or alive. Even though it seemed she wanted nothing to do with me, I couldn’t stop hoping that at some point soon she would forgive me or start missing me as much as I missed her and show up at the apartment. Thinking about never seeing her again was too painful, so I decided to keep waiting.
On Friday, Shepley knocked on my door.
“Come in,” I said from the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“You going out tonight, buddy?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should call Trent. Go get a couple of drinks and get your mind off things for a while.”
“No.”
Shepley sighed. “Listen, America’s coming over, but . . . and I hate to do this to you . . . but you can’t bug her about Abby. I barely talked her into coming. She just wants to stay in my room. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Call Trent. And you need to eat something and take a shower. You look like shit.”
With that, Shepley shut the door. It still didn’t shut right from the time I had kicked it down. Every time someone closed it, the time I destroyed the apartment over Abby leaving came to mind, and the fact that she came back to me not long after, leading to our first time.
I closed my eyes, but like every other night that week, couldn’t sleep. How people like Shepley went through this torment over and over with different girls was insane. Meeting someone after Abby, even if that girl were to somehow measure up, I couldn’t imagine putting my heart out there again. Not just so I could feel like this all over again. Like a slow death. Turns out I’d had it right all along.
Twenty minutes later, I could hear America’s voice in the living room. The sounds of them talking quietly as they hid from me in Shepley’s room echoed throughout the apartment.
Even America’s voice was too much to take. Knowing she had probably just spoken to Abby was excruciating.
I forced myself to stand up and make my way to the bathroom to take care of showering and other basic hygiene rituals I’d neglected over the last week. America’s voice was drowned out by the water, but the second I turned the lever off, I could hear her again.
I got dressed, and grabbed my bike keys, set to take a long ride. I’d probably end up at Dad’s to break the news.
Just as I passed Shepley’s bedroom door, America’s phone rang. It was the ringtone she’d assigned to Abby. My stomach sank.
“I can come pick you up and take you somewhere for dinner,” she said.
Abby was hungry. She might go to the cafeteria.
I jogged out to the Harley and raced out of the parking lot, speeding and running red lights and stop signs all the way to campus.
When I got to the cafeteria, Abby wasn’t there. I waited a few more minutes, but she never showed. My shoulders sagged, and I trudged in darkness toward the parking lot. It was a quiet night. Cold. Opposite of the night I walked Abby to Morgan after I won our bet, reminding me of how empty it felt not having her beside me.
A small figure some yards away appeared, walking toward the cafeteria alone. It was Abby.
Her hair was pulled up into a bun, and when she got closer, I noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her arms crossed against her chest, she didn’t have a coat on, only a thick, gray cardigan to ward off the cold.
“Pigeon?” I said, walking into the light from the shadows.
Abby jerked to a stop, and then relaxed a bit when she recognized me.
“Jesus, Travis! You scared the hell out of me!”
“If you would answer your phone when I call I wouldn’t have to sneak around in the dark.”
“You look like hell,” she said.
“I’ve been through there once or twice this week.”
She pulled her arms tighter around her, and I had to stop myself from hugging her to keep her warm.
Abby sighed. “I’m actually on my way to grab something to eat. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“No. We have to talk.”
“Trav—”
“I turned Benny down. I called him Wednesday and told him no.”
I was hoping she would smile, or at least show some sign that she approved.
Her face remained blank. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Travis.”
“Say you forgive me. Say you’ll take me back.”
“I can’t.”
My face crumpled.
Abby tried to walk around. Instinctively, I stepped in front of her. If she walked away this time, I would lose her. “I haven’t slept, or ate . . . I can’t concentrate. I know you love me. Everything will be the way it used to be if you’d just take me back.”
She closed her eyes. “We are dysfunctional, Travis. I think you’re just obsessed with the thought of owning me more than anything else.”
“That’s not true. I love you more than my life, Pigeon.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. That’s crazy talk.”
“It’s not crazy. It’s the truth.”
“Okay . . . so what exactly is the order for you? Is it money, me, your life . . . or is there something that comes before money?”
“I realize what I’ve done, okay? I see where you’d think that, but if I’d known that you were gonna leave me, I would have never . . . I just wanted to take care of you.”
“You’ve said that.”
“Please don’t do this. I can’t stand feeling like this . . . it’s . . . it’s killin’ me,” I said, on the verge of panic. The wall Abby kept around her when we were just friends was back up, stronger than before. She wasn’t listening. I couldn’t get through to her.
“I’m done, Travis.”
I winced. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s over. Go home.”
My eyebrows pulled in. “You’re my home.”
Abby paused, and for a moment I felt like I’d actually gotten through to her, but her eyes lost focus, and the wall was up again. “You made your choice, Trav. I’ve made mine.”
“I’m going to stay the hell out of Vegas, and away from Benny . . . I’m going to finish school. But I need you. I need you. You’re my best friend.”
For the first time since I was a little kid, hot tears burned in my eyes and dripped down one of my cheeks. Unable to restrain myself, I reached out for Abby, wrapped her small frame in my arms, and planted my lips on hers. Her mouth was cold and stiff, so I cradled her face in my hands, kissing her harder, desperate to get a reaction.
“Kiss me,” I begged.
Abby’s kept her mouth taut, but her body was lifeless. If I let her go, she would have fallen. “Kiss me!” I pleaded. “Please, Pigeon! I told him no!”
Abby shoved me away. “Leave me alone, Travis!”
She shouldered passed me, but I grabbed her wrist. She kept her arm straight, outstretched behind her, but she didn’t turn around.
“I am begging you.” I fell to my knees, her hand still in mine. My breath puffed out in white steam as I spoke, reminding me of the cold. “I’m begging you, Abby. Don’t do this.”
Abby glanced back, and then her eyes drifted down her arm to mine, seeing the tattoo on my wrist. The tattoo that bared her name.
She looked away, toward the cafeteria. “Let me go, Travis.”
The air knocked out of me, and with all hope obliterated, I relaxed my hand, and let her slip out of my fingers.
Abby didn’t look back as she walked away from me, and my palms fell flat on the sidewalk. She wasn’t coming back. She didn’t want me anymore, and there was nothing I could do or say to change it.
Several minutes passed before I could gain the strength to stand. My feet didn’t want to move, but somehow I forced them to cooperate long enough to get me to the Harley. I sat on the seat, and let my tears fall. Loss was something I’d only experienced once before in my life, but this felt more real. Losing Abby wasn’t a story I remembered from early childhood—it was in my face, debilitating me like a sickness, robbing me of my senses and physically, excruciatingly painful.
My mother’s words echoed in my ear. Abby was the girl I had to fight for, and I went down fighting. None of it was ever going to be enough.
A red Dodge Intrepid pulled up next to my bike. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was.
Trenton killed the engine, resting an arm out of the open window. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said, wiping my eyes with my jacket sleeve.
“Rough night?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, staring at the Harley’s fuel tank.
“I just got off work. I need a f*ckin’ drink. Ride with me to the Dutch.”
I took a long, faltering breath. Trenton, like Dad and the rest of my brothers, always knew how to handle me. We both knew I shouldn’t drive in my condition.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Trenton said with a small, surprised smile.
I swung my leg backward over the seat, and then walked around to the passenger side of Trenton’s car. The heat from the vents made my skin burn, and for the first time that night I felt how biting cold the air was, and recognized that I didn’t have nearly enough clothes on for the temperature.
“Shepley called you?”
“Yep.” He backed out from the parking space and slowly weaved through the lot, finding the street at a turtle’s pace. He looked over at me. “I guess a guy named French called his girl? Said you and Abby were fighting outside the cafeteria.”
“We weren’t fighting. I was just . . . trying to get her back.”
Trenton nodded once, pulling into the street. “That’s what I figured.”
We didn’t speak again until we took our stools at the bar of the Dutch. The crowd was rough, but Bill, the owner and bartender, knew Dad well from when we were kids, and most of the regulars watched us grow up.
“Good to see you boys. It’s been a while,” Bill said, wiping down the counter before setting a beer and a shot on the bar in front of each of us.
“Hey, Bill,” Trenton said, immediately tossing back his shot.
“You feeling okay, Travis?” Bill asked.
Trenton answered for me. “He’ll feel better after a few rounds.”
I was grateful. In that moment, if I spoke, I might have broken down.
Trenton continued buying me whiskey until my teeth were numb and I was on the verge of passing out. I must have done so sometime between the bar and the apartment, because I woke up the next morning on the couch in my clothes, unsure of how in the hell I got there.
Shepley closed the door, and I heard the familiar sound of America’s Honda rev up and pull away.
I sat up and closed one eye. “Did you guys have a good night.”
“Yeah. Did you?”
“I guess so. Did you hear me come in?”
“Yeah, Trent carried your ass upstairs and threw you on the couch. You were laughing, so I’d say it was a successful night.”
“Trent can be a dick, but he’s a good brother.”
“That he is. You hungry?”
“F*ck no,” I groaned.
“Alrighty, then. I’m gonna make me some cereal.”
I sat on the couch, going over the night before in my mind. The last hours were hazy, but when I backed up to the moment I saw Abby on campus, I winced.
“I told Mare we had plans today. I thought we’d go to the lumber place to replace your creaky ass door.”
“You don’t have to babysit me, Shep.”
“I’m not. We’re leaving in half an hour. Wash the stank off you, first,” he said, sitting in the recliner with his bowl of Mini Wheats. “And then we’re going to come home and study. Finals.”
“F*ck,” I said with a sigh.
“I’ll order pizza for lunch, and we can just eat leftovers for dinner.”
“Thanksgiving is coming up, remember? I’ll be eating pizza three meals a day for two days straight. No, thank you.”
“Okay, Chinese, then.”
“You’re micromanaging,” I said.
“I know. Trust me, it helps.”
I nodded slowly, hoping he was right.
THE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY. BUT STAYING UP LATE TO study with Shepley, and sometimes America, helped to shorten the sleepless nights. Trenton promised not to tell Dad or the rest of the Maddox boys about Abby until after Thanksgiving, but I still dreaded it, knowing I’d already told them all she would come. They would ask about her, and then see right through me when I lied.
After my last class on Friday, I called Shepley. “Hey, I know this is supposed to be off-limits, but I need you to find out where Abby is going for break.”
“Well, that’s easy. She’ll be with us. She spends the holidays at America’s.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing,” I said, abruptly hanging up the phone.
I walked around campus in the light rain, waiting for Abby’s class to let out. Outside the Hoover building, I saw a few people from Abby’s calculus class congregated outside. The back of Parker’s head came into view, and then Abby.
She was huddled inside her winter coat, seeming uncomfortable as Parker babbled on.
I pulled down my red ball cap and jogged in their direction. Abby’s eyes drifted to mine; recognition made her eyebrows raise infinitesimally.
The same mantra played on repeat in my head. No matter what smart-ass comment Parker makes, play it cool. Don’t f*ck this up. Don’t. F*ck. This. Up.
To my surprise, Parker left without saying a word to me.
I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my hoodie. “Shepley said you’re going with him and Mare to Wichita tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re spending the whole break at America’s?”
She shrugged, trying too hard to be unaffected by my presence. “I’m really close with her parents.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s a drunk, Travis. She won’t know it’s Thanksgiving.”
My stomach lurched, knowing the answer to my next question was going to be my last chance. Thunder rolled above us and I looked up, squinting as the large drops fell against my face.
“I need to ask you for a favor,” I said, ducking from the hard rain. “C’mere.” I pulled Abby under the closest awning so she wouldn’t get soaked from the sudden downpour.
“What kind of favor?” she asked, clearly suspicious. It was hard to hear her over the rain.
“My uh . . .” I shifted my weight, my nerves attempting to get the best of me. My mind screamed abort!, but I was determined to at least try. “Dad and the guys are still expecting you on Thursday.”
“Travis!” Abby whined.
I looked to my feet. “You said you would come.”
“I know, but . . . it’s a little inappropriate now, don’t you think?”
“You said you would come,” I said again, trying to keep my voice calm.
“We were still together when I agreed to go home with you. You knew I wasn’t going to come.”
“I didn’t know, and it’s too late, anyway. Thomas is flying in, and Tyler took off work. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you.”
Abby cringed, twirling a piece of her wet hair around her finger. “They were going to come anyway, weren’t they?”
“Not everyone. We haven’t had all of us there for Thanksgiving in years. They all made an effort to be there, since I promised them a real meal. We haven’t had a woman in the kitchen since Mom died and . . .”
“That’s not sexist or anything,”
“That’s not what I meant, Pidge, c’mon. We all want you there. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“You haven’t told them about us, have you?”
“Dad would ask why, and I’m not ready to talk to him about it. I’d never hear the end of how stupid I am. Please come, Pidge.”
“I have to put the turkey in at six in the morning. We’d have to leave here by five . . .”
“Or we could stay there.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “No way! It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to lie to your family and pretend we’re still together.”
Her reaction, although anticipated, still stung my ego a little. “You act like I’m asking you to light yourself on fire.”
“You should have told them!”
“I will. After Thanksgiving . . . I’ll tell them.”
She sighed and then looked away. Waiting for her answer was like pulling out my fingernails one by one.
“If you promise me that this isn’t some stunt to try and get back together, I’ll do it.”
I nodded, trying not to be too eager. “I promise.”
Her lips formed a hard line, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile in her eyes. “I’ll see you at five.”
I leaned down to kiss her cheek. I’d just meant to give her a quick peck, but my lips had missed her skin, and it was hard to pull away. “Thanks, Pigeon.”
After Shepley and America headed out for Wichita in the Honda, I cleaned the apartment, folded the last load of laundry, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, packed an overnight bag, and then cussed the clock for being so slow. When four thirty finally rolled around, I jogged down the steps to Shepley’s Charger, trying not to speed all the way to Morgan.
When I arrived at Abby’s door, her confused expression took me by surprise.
“Travis,” she breathed.
“Are you ready?”
Abby raised an eyebrow. “Ready for what?”
“You said pick you up at five.”
She folded her arms across my chest. “I meant five in the morning!”
“Oh. I guess I should call Dad and let him know we won’t be staying after all.”
“Travis!” she wailed.
“I brought Shep’s car so we didn’t have to deal with our bags on the bike. There’s a spare bedroom you can crash in. We can watch a movie or—”
“I’m not staying at your dad’s!”
My face fell. “Okay. I’ll uh . . . I’ll see you in the morning.”
I took a step back, and Abby shut the door. She would still come, but my family would definitely know something was up if she didn’t show up tonight like I’d said she would. I walked down the hall slowly as I punched in Dad’s number. He was going to ask why, and I didn’t want to outright lie to him.
“Travis, wait.”
I flipped around to see Abby standing in the hallway.
“Give me a minute to pack a few things.”
I smiled, nearly overwhelmed with relief. We walked together back to her room, and I waited in the doorway while she shoved a few things in a bag. The scene reminded me of the night I’d won the bet, and I realized that I wouldn’t have traded a single second we spent together.
“I still love you, Pidge.”
She didn’t look up. “Don’t. I’m not doing this for you.”
I sucked in a breath, physical pain shooting in all directions in my chest. “I know.”