Текст книги "Spark"
Автор книги: Erin Noelle
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Striding around to her side of the bed, I press my lips to her forehead in a goodnight kiss, and as I turn to leave, something shiny on her nightstand catches my attention. I inhale a jagged breath as I pick up the cracked cigarette case, and as I stare at it, my chest constricts with guilt. I will find a way to make this right. No matter what happens between us, I have to fix this.
I drop the case in my back pocket then tiptoe out of her room, closing the door behind me. My hope was to get out of the house completely unnoticed by anyone else, but as I turn to do just that, I’m met face-to-face with a smirking Grams.
“Come on, boy,” she orders, motioning for me to follow her. “It’s time we talked.”
A marching band of sumo wrestlers has taken up residence inside my head, and I’m pretty sure they’re rehearsing Metallica’s Enter Sandman over and over and over again. I’ve mentally begged them to stop for at least an hour, but they continue to ignore me. Fuckers.
The wad of sandpaper lodged in the back of my throat is worse than any cottonmouth I’ve ever experienced, and my eyelids feel like they’re sewn shut, refusing to open no matter how hard I will them to. Finally, when my expanding bladder threatens to burst, the invisible seal holding them together releases, and I’m able to slowly pry them apart.
The framed picture of my family sitting on my nightstand is the first thing that comes into focus, proving my suspicion that I am indeed at home. Weird. Wasn’t I supposed to stay the night at my sisters’ apartment? How did I end up here?
I move to slide off the bed, attempting to remember what happened last night, when every muscle and joint in my body screams out in agony, pleading for me not to move again. Good Lord, was I hit by a car? A semi, maybe? With the nosedive my life’s taken recently, I wouldn’t be surprised. And now, I’m seriously wondering what the fuck happened.
As I inch my way down to the floor and then creep at a snail’s pace toward the bathroom, I scroll through my memory log, trying desperately to pull up some recollection of last night—anything—but I’m drawing a big, fat blank after we left my house and showed up at the party.
I remember a lot of people being inside the house, more than I expected, and Dakota telling me only to take drinks from one of them as she handed me a red plastic cup filled with a slushie drink that tasted like frozen fruit punch with a bite. Then, we went outside, and there was music and a bonfire, and that’s about where it goes black. I’ve got nothing else. Must’ve been some bite.
If this is how drinking always makes you feel the next day, I’m not sure why in the hell anyone does it. Never once after smoking pot—and there have been nights I’ve been stoned silly—have I physically hurt the next day or gotten so fucked up that I blacked out.
This shit is terrible.
I bounce off something solid, my head ricocheting backwards. I crack a crusty eyelid. Brighton. Maybe Denver. Someone shorter than me.
“What’s wrong with you?” the smaller person asks.
Hunching over, grabbing their shoulders, I attempt to make eye contact, but all I can manage to get in my field of vision is a nose.
“Don’t. Ever. Drink.”
Then, I lurch past them, my only goal the bathroom with its porcelain shrine, where I feel the sudden need to worship.
Locking the bathroom door behind me, I fall onto the toilet in the most ungraceful of moves, wincing as the pain shoots sharply through my limbs and core. After I take the longest pee of my life, I stumble to the sink and splash ice-cold water over my face before daring to look in the mirror, not that it does anything to improve the scary image staring back at me.
Holy hot mess! I have been hit by a car!
The matted strands of my hair close to my face are sticking up in directions that defy gravity, and the long tendrils in the back are twisted and tied into a straw nest that I’m not sure a full bottle of detangler can handle. Mascara is smudged under both of my eyes, which are so swollen they’re merely slits resting atop my pale cheeks.
Last night’s clothes, sans the boots, hang limply on my frame, a stale smell coming from them—or maybe that’s just me. And the hideous reindeer dancing across my chest laugh at me, because they remember what happened, making me want to rip this damn sweater apart at the seams. Just squinting at myself is exhausting. If negative energy was a thing, that’s what I’d be feeling right now. Less than nothing.
Hangovers fucking suck.
Brushing my teeth takes ten times longer than normal, since every time my toothbrush ventures near the back of my mouth, I gag and lean my head over the toilet, spewing liters of red shit into the basin. I think some even comes out of my nose. It’s at this point I vow to never drink again in my life. One time was plenty for me.
Once I’m confident the volcano has finished erupting, I swallow four ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and chase them down with water from the sink. Twisting the knob firmly to the cold side, I slide out of my clothes with the least amount of movement possible, praying the needles of water will magically heal me.
Taking a quick glance at myself in the mirror right before stepping into the tub, I spy a bandage on my upper wrist that was hidden by the long sleeves of the sweater. Holding my breath, I hastily peel the bandage back to reveal a pretty nasty-looking, bloody scrape that appears to have been cleaned and covered in some cream. How did I do this? Who helped me? My sisters? Is that why they brought me home?
Panic rises inside me as the unanswered questions build up, and my hands shake as I pull back the shower curtain. As soon as I clean up, I’m calling Dakota to find out exactly what went down. But first, a shower.
None of them are answering their phones. Not calls, not texts, nothing. I peer down at my watch and note that it’s only a little before ten, so I assume they’re all still asleep, but still…I groan with frustration, quickly reaching the point of insanity as I mull over the possibilities of last night’s events.
That’s it. I’m going to their apartment. I don’t care if I have to beat down the damn door; I need to know, and I need to know now. Maybe I’ll stop and get doughnuts and coffees on the way as an upfront apology for waking them up. Yes, that’s perfect.
Yoga pants and a thermal is all I can muster up the energy to put on. My wet hair goes into a single braid, and I don’t bother with any makeup, not even my favorite strawberry lip balm. I can’t think coherently enough to try to impress anyone. I’m just happy to have found two matching shoes. Once I get some answers, I’m coming straight back home and sleeping the rest of the day away.
Grabbing my stuff, I head out to my car, but as soon as I walk outside, I see Grams walking up the front steps, toting one of the large plastic containers we use for transporting marijuana to The Green Halo.
“Grams! What are you doing carrying that by yourself? You could really get hurt.” Forgetting all about my aches and pains, I sprint over to her, taking the bulky bin out of her arms and setting it down on the porch.
Her eyes light up at the sight of me. “Oh, I’m fine, but I’m glad you’re up! I was just coming to see you.”
“You were? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” she assures, patting my shoulder lovingly. “Uncle Danny just called, and they’re almost out of three different sativa strands and running low on a couple of other hybrids, so he needs someone to bring him what we have available.” Her eyes drop to the car keys in one of my hands and my purse in the other, then flick back to my face. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Were you on your way out?”
Giving a slight nod, I shift my weight uncomfortably as I weigh how much I want to tell her. My family is usually cool as shit about this kind of stuff, as long as we’re never in danger or putting anyone else in danger, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.
“Yeah, uh, I was heading to the girls’ apartment. I left my phone with them after the party.”
“Oh, yes, right.” She nods, staring up at me with an amused look on her face. “I was surprised to hear you come in last night. I thought you were staying with them.”
Another nod as I bite my bottom lip nervously, and my gaze falls to the ground. I really suck at lying. “They brought me home, ‘cause I started not feeling well. Probably just ate too much at Christmas dinner.” I wrap my arms over my belly and make an ugly face, acting as if my stomachache is from too much food, not too much alcohol.
“Are you okay?” Her eyebrows pinch together with concern. “Feeling well enough to drive into town?”
“Yeah, much better now.” I pat my lower abdomen and smile, continuing the lying charades game I’m playing. “Good as new.”
Good as new? Shut up now, Hudson.
Her forehead relaxes and a happy smile replaces the taut frown, as if she’s buying every false word falling from my lips. “Then it’s a good thing they brought you home when they did.”
“Definitely. A great thing.” I rock back on my heels, blowing out an uneasy breath. “So you said you were on your way to see me?”
“I need you to drop that,” she tips her salt-and-pepper head toward the Rubbermaid resting at our feet, “off at the store for me. Your dad took a group out skiing this morning, your mom just left to go in town with the girls for some big sale they wanted to hit up, and I’m covering breakfast while trying to watch Denver. I’d take it myself and have you finish up breakfast if I could drive, but you know that’s not possible.”
Without a second thought, I squat down and pick the container back up in my arms, offering her what I hope is an easy grin. “No problem, Grams. The shop isn’t far out of my way at all. I’ll drop it off.”
“Thank you so much, love. I’ll see you when you get back. Tell them all I said hello.”
The drive to The Green Halo is unusually quiet. My head, though it feels much better, isn’t ready for music quite yet, and not to mention, I’m so caught up in my thoughts about what I’m going to say to my sisters that I don’t even recognize the silence until I’m parking the car in the employee area behind the building.
I grab the tan bin and hitch it up on my hip, toting it through the back entrance, which I gain access to with my thumbprint. Following the sound of voices from the sales area, I leave the container in the storeroom to go find Danny and ask him where he wants me to put the stuff. However, as I turn the corner to the hall that leads out front, I run smack dab into a hard chest, which sends two strong arms shooting out to help steady me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking whe—” I cut my apology short when my eyes land on Crew’s face, complete shock washing over me as I wiggle free of his grasp. “What are you doing here?"
He doesn’t answer me at first, appearing to be just as surprised as I am to run into each other. His gaze travels over the length of my body, as if he’s making sure it’s really me standing in front of him, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Then, as he locks his eyes back on mine, the corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile, waging a serious war inside of me—my hopeful heart and traitorous body on one side, my sensible mind and self-respect on the other.
“Well? Are you just gonna stand there and stare at me, or tell me why you’re at my family’s shop?” I demand, my tone borderline rude.
His proud smile grows. “I’m working here now.”
“Working here?” I scoff, pinching my eyebrows together in disbelief. “Since when? What are you talking about?”
“Last week, I called Doug and asked if he could help me find a non-bartending job, if he knew anyone hiring, and he told me Danny was looking for some help. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”
My eyes grow wide as the nausea from earlier threatens to make a reappearance. “My dad hired you? Are you fucking serious? Am I on some prank show right now?” I spin around in a circle, waiting for people with cameras to jump out at any minute.
“No, this isn’t a damn TV show, Hudson. I’m really working here. After everything that happened with—” He blows out a long breath while brushing an unruly strand of hair out of his face.
I try not to stare at how his shirt pulls taut around his chest and biceps, but fail miserably. I'm supposed to be pissed off at him right now...I mean, I am pissed off at him. So why does it feel like a flock of geese have taken flight inside my belly? What is it about him that I find so captivating? Why do I want to forgive him before he’s even said he’s sorry? What the fuck is wrong with me?
“After everything that happened with you last week,” he continues his previous thought, ripping my gaze from his toned upper body and back to his cautious green eyes, “and everything going on with Mom, I realized I needed to pull my head out of my ass and get my life back together. So I quit my job at the pub and started working here.”
I do my best to wipe all emotion from my face as I whisper, "Were you going to tell me?"
Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he drops his focus to the ground. "When the time was right," he mumbles at his shoelaces.
My back straightens as I nod stiffly; a thousand questions teeter on the tip of my tongue, but I'm too scared to know the answers. Instead, I point over to where I left the bin and say, "Well then, you can let Danny know where I left that...since you work here and all now. I gotta get going."
Spinning around on my heel before he can say anything else—before he can break my heart any more than he already has—I scurry to the exit. As I push the door open, seconds before I reach the safety of the outdoors, he calls out, "Hey! How's your arm?"
"It’s fine," I answer absentmindedly, glancing back briefly over my shoulder before rushing out to my car.
Hurriedly, I buckle my seatbelt and stick the key in the ignition, wanting to get as far away from him as possible before I do something really stupid. Like go back inside and slap him. Or kiss him.
Or both.
Shifting the car into reverse, the sleeve of my shirt slides up on my arm a little, and I freeze as I catch sight of the bandage I woke up with this morning.
Then it hits me.
How the fuck does he know about what happened to my wrist?
“Are you in love with her?”
“In love with her?” I repeat the question, the L-word feeling different than the others as it spills from my mouth. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind at some point in the last several weeks, but I’d quickly pushed it away, not ready to tackle that baby just yet.
Grams waits patiently for my answer, leaning back in the cushioned wicker rocking chair out on the front porch, where she’s brought me for our chat. And with that first question, she came out firing.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I slowly admit as I cross my arms over my chest, looking out over the resort property, lit up by twinkling white Christmas lights strung across the roofs of the lodge and all of the individual cabins.
My gaze is immediately drawn to cabin number eight, and the memories of Hudson during that first week we stayed here bombard me. From the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was different than any girl I’d met before, and after our first kiss, I knew she’d be mine. The natural chemistry between us was undeniable…is undeniable.
“Do I like her? Adore her? Think she’s damn near perfect? Definitely. I’ve never felt with anyone what I feel when I’m with her,” I continue, leaning my weight against the wood railing, “but I’m not sure we’ve known each other long enough to say we love each other, or even if we’re in love.”
“Let me make it easy for you,” she says, her face softening. “Is she the last thing you think about before you go to sleep each night and the first thing you think about when you wake up every morning?”
That’s a no-brainer. “Yes. Without a doubt.”
Nodding, she chuckles lightly. “Right. So what’s your plan to get her back?”
“Well, first, I quit my job at the bar, and Doug got me a job at The Green Halo helping Danny,” I reply, unsure if she’s aware I’m working there or not.
“Yes, my son shared that tidbit of information with me. What else do you have?”
“I’m crashing on a friend’s couch temporarily,” I drop down in the chair next to her and lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, “but his lease is up at the end of next month, so assuming we don’t kill each other and I’m able to save up some money, we’re going to get a two-bedroom place together. I also filled out an application at the local community college to enroll for the spring semester, which Mom has offered to pay for, since she moved in with Luke and her expenses are less. They said I’d know next week whether I was accepted or not, but I did pretty well in high school and on my SATs, so I’m not concerned.”
She holds her hand up in the air to stop me from going on. “Everything you just said is great and all, but what does any of that have to do with Hudson?”
“Once I get my life put back together, I can prove to her that I’m worthy of her, that I’ve healed after everything with Caleb.” The ache of emptiness in my chest still throbs every time I say his name, but my new therapist says the physical pain will gradually lessen with time.
The disapproval on Grams’ face is unmistakable. “And how long is that going to take? Two or three months? Are you ready to repeat what you did tonight for however long it takes you to get all of your ducks in a row? ‘Cause I can promise you right now, she’s gonna try to drink or screw you out of her system until she’s actually able to let you go. Is that what you want?”
“Of course it’s not.” Dropping my head, I grab fistfuls of my hair and tug hard, trying to erase the mental images she’s providing me. The jealousy I felt earlier seeing Hudson in the guy’s lap made me damn near homicidal. “What am I supposed to do though?”
“Not wait two damn months, for starters,” she exclaims as she slaps her hands on her lap. “That girl inside that house—that girl you’re in love with, whether or not you want to admit it or not—she’s a fixer. Ever since she was a little kid, all she’s ever wanted to do was to fix everyone’s problems for them, never worrying about her own. When she found out about Caleb’s epilepsy, all she wanted to do was help him get better. When you were dealing with your loss of your brother, she swept aside her own time for grieving and focused all of her attention on you, doing everything she could to offer you support and comfort. It’s who she is.
“Now she’s the one who’s broken; she’s the one who needs to be fixed, and you’re the only person who can do that. Are you going to leave her suffering while you try to work out all of your stuff by yourself, or are you going to apologize to her—on your damn knees, if that’s what it takes—and help each other heal?”
Wow.
When she puts it that way, I want to run back through the front door, shake Hudson to consciousness, tell her how sorry I am for everything, and plead with her to take me back.
Then, I want to have out-of-this-world make-up sex. For hours. Days. Until I’m the only guy she’ll ever think about in bed again.
Grams must recognize the desperate look in my face, because she stands up and offers me her hand, pulling me out of the chair. “Go home and think about what I said. If you’re serious about making it work, you need to show her how you feel. Just don’t wait around for the timing to be perfect, because there’s no such thing in life. You have to make it the perfect time.”
The conversation with Grams plays on an endless loop in my head—during the drive to Rory’s apartment, through my attempt to sleep, and when I wake up the following morning and go to work. She’s right. I need to fix shit with Hudson, and I need to do it ASAP. The girl consumes my thoughts day and night, and I want her to be by my side as I attempt to tackle all of these goals. If that means I love her, well then, so be it.
Fuck, that word is scary though.
When we collide into each other in the back room at The Green Halo, her presence completely catches me off guard, and I end up acting like a tool throughout the short conversation. So badly, I just want to blurt out I’m sorry and want her back, and that I’ll do whatever it takes to fix everything, but I don’t.
I’m a fucking coward, afraid she’ll reject me. So I heehaw around my words, only drawing up enough courage to ask her about her arm as she’s walking out the fucking door.
Then she’s gone.
And I still haven’t apologized.
Forgetting all about whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing for Danny, I sprint out the door to catch her before she drives away, pride be damned, and to my surprise, she’s stomping across the parking lot, headed directly for me. And she’s pissed.
She pulls up just short of where I’m standing, with her hands fisted on her hips and an irritated scowl etched onto her face. “How did you know about my arm?”
Shit! Why in the world did I open my big, fat mouth?
“I’m the one who treated and bandaged your arm last night after I took you home from the party,” I reply quietly, knowing it’s time I start telling her the truth, even as I prepare myself for the angry outburst sure to follow. Knowing her, it’s inevitable.
“You did what?!” she shouts, her eyes bulging out of her head.
As I reach out to rest my hands on her arms, a futile attempt to calm her down, she side-steps out of my grasp with flared nostrils. “Don’t touch me! And you better start explaining what in the fuck happened last night. How did you even know where I was?”
Dragging my fingers through my messy hair, I inhale a fortifying breath through my nose and slowly blow it out of my wind-chapped lips. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but Rory—the guy I used to bartend with and whose apartment I’m staying at now—was at the party, and he called to let me know you were there and that you were drunk and hanging on some other guy.”
Shame flashes momentarily through her stormy blue eyes, but she quickly blinks it away and replaces it with stubbornness. “So? What business is it of his, or yours for that matter, what I do or who I do it with? I think somewhere between you calling me a whore and sleeping with trash from the bar, you lost that right.”
“Hudson, please.” Swallowing up the distance between us in one stride, I lift a hand to her face and brush the pad of my thumb across her cheek, my heart swelling with hope when she doesn’t jerk away from my touch again. “Please, hear me out. I have so much to say to you. I need to apologize and—”
“Crew!” Danny shouts with his head sticking out the backdoor, drawing both mine and Hudson’s attention to him. “I’m drowning in here, dude. I need your ass inside now. Oh, hey, Hudson!” He smiles and waves when he sees his niece, his eyes hone in on where I’m cupping her face in my hand. “Sorry to interrupt whatever’s going on, but we’re getting slammed. I need Crew inside.”
“No problem, Uncle Danny,” she calls out to him while putting space between us. “I set that container Grams had me drop off just inside the room there.”
He tips his chin in acknowledgement and thanks her, then slips back inside, allowing the door to close behind him. Our eyes lock onto each other again, but before I can continue on with my unplanned speech, she holds her hand up in the air to stop me.
“You need to get inside, and it isn’t the time or place to do this. If you want to talk later, you know where to find me.” Her voice is thick with melancholy as she backpedals toward her car.
Nodding in frustration, I watch her climb in the driver’s seat and start the car. Then, as she drives off away from me, the determination inside me spikes and I know exactly what I need to do to get her back.
That evening, when I arrive at the apartment, I’m completely drained from the lack of sleep the night before, the unexpected run-in with Hudson, and working pretty much nonstop for ten straight hours. I think every pot-smoker in the state of Colorado hit up the shop today; I literally couldn’t keep the display cases stocked fast enough for the rate Danny was selling it.
Tossing my wallet and keys into the bowl on the bar, I flop onto the couch with a groan, too tired to even get up and fix something for dinner. My stomach growls angrily with disapproval at my plan for a foodless evening, but I ignore it for the time being. Maybe after a nap…
“Crew? Is that you, man?” Rory hollers from behind the closed door of his bedroom.
I want to say something clever or funny back to him, but my brain has checked out. “Yeah, it’s me!” I shout back.
His door swings open and he saunters out in a pair of sweats, an old beat-up t-shirt, and hair looking like he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. Stretching his arms up in a big yawn, he shuffles over to the refrigerator and grabs the milk, drinking straight from the jug. I make a mental note to purchase all of my own drinks in the future.
“I thought you were working tonight,” I state, not bothering to move from my planked position.
He smacks his lips together and nods, shooting me a wicked grin. “I knew after being up all night and morning there was no way I’d have the patience or energy to put up with the rowdy day-after-Christmas crew, so I switched shifts with Dustin. Now I work tomorrow instead.”
“Yeah, I noticed your Jeep was missing outside when I left for work this morning. I’m assuming you had a good time after I left last night,” I probe.
Smirking, he circles around the bar and heads back into the living room, falling back into his favorite chair. “Dakota proved to be a little better than a good time.”
I shoot up to a sitting position, suddenly wide awake. “Dakota?! Are you fucking serious?”
“Shit, calm the fuck down, dude. We had sex. That’s it. It was cool. She was cool. Everything’s cool.”
“But that’s Hudson’s sister,” I argue, scrubbing my hands over my face. “What if she—”
“Nothing,” he cuts me off. “What if she nothing. What happened between Dakota and me is between us. We’re both very clear on what it was and what it wasn’t. Neither you nor Hudson has anything to do with it, but I do hope that your caveman rescue mission last night helped earn your way back into her good graces.”
Swallowing back the shock of his Dakota news and the concerns I have about it one day affecting me and Hudson, I shake my head. “I wouldn’t say I’m in her ‘good graces’ by a long shot, but we’re at least speaking…I think.”
He laughs hard. “You think?”
“Well, after I took her home, I talked to her grandma for a while, and she really helped put some things in perspective for me,” I admit. “Then this morning, Hudson unexpectedly stopped by the shop, and although she didn’t remember anything about last night, nor was she too happy to learn I’d taken her home, she did tell me if I wanted to talk, I knew where to find her.”
“So what the fuck is your ass doing here? Go get your girl.”
“I can’t just barge into her house and demand she accept my apology and take me back. I’ve gotta show her how sorry I am—grovel a bit and prove myself to her. Ya know?”
Nodding, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s your plan then?”
I lift my hips off the couch cushion and dig inside my pocket, retrieving the plastic bag of weed and pack of papers Danny sold me after hours. Lobbing them onto the coffee table, an optimistic smile spreads across my face, stretching from ear to ear.
“This,” I announce proudly.
He stares down at the items on the table then looks back up at me, his forehead crinkled with confusion. “You’re gonna get her so high that she forgives you?”
“Nah, much, much better than that,” I chuckle, “but I am gonna need you to teach me how to roll a joint.”
