Текст книги "Freeing Carter"

Автор книги: Nyrae Dawn

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Her hand plays in my hair. My hands rub up and down her back. And it feels good to be this close to her. So good that I'm pretty sure she feels the evidence of it against her stomach, but she doesn't say anything so I don't care. And I know this is supposed to be our night, but I need to be honest with her, too. Need her to understand why I've spent the whole night sitting at the table. "Travis is drunk," I mumble into her hair. My hands don't stop moving, exploring and neither do hers. I feel her chest rise and fall against mine until our breaths are synchronized, like it's a play on the court that we've practiced a million times.

"I wondered. I smelled it on Patrice too."

"He's been partying a lot." I didn't think much about it until tonight. I let it go. He told me about his parents and I just let it go, without trying to do anything.

"It's not your fault." Her words counter my thoughts, trying to battle my demons into making me believe her, but I don't. It might not be my fault he's started drinking more, but it's my fault for not trying to stop him.

"Okay."

Kira leans far enough away from me that we're face to face. "I'm serious, Carter."

Instead of replying, I kiss her, needing to feel that closeness. Needing to feel like everything is normal. Seeing Travis makes me think about Mom and Grandpa until they're all I can think about.

I part her lips with my tongue, and she lets me, kissing me back just as fiercely. It goes on and on and on. Maybe till the end of time, or at least until I feel like I could explode from it, but I keep going because this isn't such a bad way to blow up.

"Carter!" Someone grabs onto my arm, pulling me away from Kira. It's Patrice. Her eyes are wide with worry. "I need your help. Travis is sick. He's in the bathroom. I think he's throwing."

Automatically, I take off for the bathroom. The door slams against the wall as I storm in. Travis is laying in one of the stalls, puke all over his suit and his head in the toilet.

Suddenly, he's not Travis anymore. I see Mom. Hear Mom. "Sowwy, Carter."

I shake the thoughts from my head, making my way to Travis. "Hey... You okay?" And finally! We have a winner for the stupidest thing Carter has said tonight!

"Peachy," Travis says before he starts up-chucking again. I want to puke, too. I hate the smell. The sound. It's worse than nails on a chalkboard. Worse than anything.

"We gotta get you out of here before someone sees you," I tell him. "I'll be right back." Nausea battles my insides, but I push it aside, before opening the bathroom door. Kira and Patrice are waiting outside.

"Some people tried to come in. I told them it's broken. We need to figure something out." Kira touches my arm. And now I know. I know what she is. She's more than awesome. She's the girl I love, because that little touch, it somehow helps.

"Here." I hand her my keys. "Can you pull my truck around back?" I point down the hall. "Then bring my gym bag in for me?"

She grabs the keys with no question and starts for the door. "Don't let anyone in here." Patrice nods at me and then I'm gone, heading to the stall to check on Travis again. He's throwing up again, splashes of vomit hitting the inside of the toilet. I fight the urge to throw up myself. I don't have time. Right now, I have to make sure no one catches him. I can't let Travis loose basketball or get kicked out of school.

Pulling some tissue off the roll, he wipes his mouth, still kneeling by the toilet. We're quiet for a couple minutes. Kira should be back any second. I am about to go check when Travis speaks.

"Dude. I am so fucked up," he says. It's then I notice the flask on the floor.

Hold it together, Shaw. "Are you done? Kira's getting you clothes. You can change and we'll sneak you out." There's no emotion in my voice even though I feel like it's spilling out of me from everywhere.

He nods his head. At the same time, the bathroom door creaks and I freeze.

"Carter? It's me." I relax at the sound of Kira's voice. Man, she was fast. I run back over to her and grab the bag, my eyes catching hers, trying to tell her thank you. I'm pretty sure the small smile she gives me is telling me it's okay.

Back in the bathroom, I'm stuffing Travis's disgusting clothes into my bag as he's putting on my basketball shorts and a t-shirt. It takes him a couple minutes, stumbling around before he gets them on. The whole time I'm seeing Mom. Remembering my feet getting tangled in hers as I carried her up the stairs.

"Come on." My voice is tight, as tight as my body as I help him to the door.

"Carter, let me help him." Kira reaches for him when we get out the door. "It will look weird if someone sees the two of you together."

My stomach drops to my feet, but I know she's right. My teeth grind together as she puts her arm around Travis's waist, holding him close. His arm goes around her neck, the way mine would, the only difference is I'd let her lean on me instead of the other way around.

Patrice is looking around, nervous. Her eyes scanning the halls. They're as red as his are. I have to bite my tongue not to yell at her. How could she let him get this fucking drunk? But is it really her fault? I should have seen it. Talked to him. I know the signs. What to look for. Besides, she's been drinking, too.

My whole body is stiff as we walk down the hall, away from the dance. Kira is holding Travis. Travis is holding Kira. She shouldn't have to do this. Shouldn't have to carry my drunk friend into the parking lot.

It's as though there's no music. All I hear is my heart and our footsteps. We have to make it out of here. Have to.

A group of girls walk out of the bathroom. Their laughter stops when they see us. Their eyes are on Kira and Travis then me. They know we're together, everyone does, so they have to be wondering why my girl is walking with her arms around my best friend.

Please, don't say anything. Please don't say anything. They keep watching us, my heart hammering like crazy. When we pass them I keep going, just needing to get him outside and out of here.

As soon as we step outside, the burning in my lungs stops. My breath runs free for the first time in who knows how long.

"What are we going to do?" Kira asks. I take Travis from her, and put him in my truck. He passes out the second he hits the seat.

"I can't bring him home. His mom will freak."

"What about me? Can someone bring me home?" Patrice asks.

"Shit." I lean against my truck. One night. We'd wanted one night with nothing bad and this is what we get. "I don't know if I can sneak him in my house, either." And I'm scared. What if Mom catches us? Smells the alcohol. She's been so good. What if it lures her? Makes her want it again?

"Lana's at work tonight. She went in after the dance. We can bring him to my house."

My eyes catch hers. "No. No way. You shouldn't have to deal with him."

"I really need to get home," Patrice breaks in again.

"Then you should have thought of that before you guys got trashed,” Kira says. Then to me, “Carter, it's okay. We don't really have much of a choice."

She's right. I know it, but I hate it, too. "Here." I reach into the bag, pulling Travis's keys out of his suit. "Can you take Patrice home? Then meet me at your house? We can talk there."

Kira nods her head and turns to walk away, but I pull her to me instead. My hand cups her cheek. My forehead touching hers. "Thanks."

"It'll be fine. Everything will be fine," she tells me, and then she and Patrice are gone.

Chapter Sixteen

Travis is passed out in Kira's bed. In her bed. I've never even been in it and though I know this is a screwed up situation, that I would never want to be in her bed like drunk off my ass, I'm jealous. So angry that I want to wake up my best friend just to kick his ass. To knock some sense into him.

"I don't want to leave him with you. It doesn't feel right. It's not your responsibility, but I'm pretty sure I can't stay out all night. Mom will never believe me if I tell her I'm going to Travis's tonight." Not after our conversation this afternoon.

"It's not your responsibility, either." Her hair is down now. She's wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats, home early from our dance. Nice. "Nothing's going to happen. He's asleep. He'll stay asleep. I'll watch him. Hide him when Lana gets home, and kick his hung-over ass out when she takes her nap. It'll be fine," she says again.

I turn away from her, leaning my hands on her desk. I see Travis's reflection in the mirror in front of me. I'm pissed at myself. Pissed at Travis. Mom, Grandpa. Dad for dying. I'm pissed at everyone right now. Kira steps up behind me, her darker arms wrapping around me from behind. Now it's only our reflection I see. Her eyes. Her smooth, brown skin, blending and mixing with mine as she twines herself around me. "Oh! I have an idea."

I can't help it. I chuckle. How is it she always has an idea. That she can always sound so excited about whatever it is. "What's that?"

"I used to have this best friend in LA. Her name was Misty. Whenever we wanted to hang out, but couldn't, we'd have phone slumber parties."

"Huh?" Texting I'm good with. I used to hate it when Mel would keep me on the phone for hours and a phone slumber party sounds awful girly.

"Don't look at me like that!" She swats me. "It's fun. Call me when you get home and we can talk all night. Talk till one of us falls asleep and it'll be just like we're together."

"Okay," I hear myself say, and amazingly, I don't hate the idea of talking to her on the phone all night. I look around her room again. There's neon green, round chair under the window. Flowers painted on the walls. Flowers I'm pretty sure she drew and painted herself. It's so her.

"Thank you. You're..."

"Awesome," she answers for me. "I know."

I make my way home as fast as I can. The lights are off, which doesn't surprise me. I keep them off as I make my way up the stairs, Sara's hall nightlight makes it so I can see. Her door is cracked open so I peek in. Mom is in bed with her. Sara must have had one of her nightmares. It's the only time Mom sleeps with her.

"Hey," she whispers, looking at me from Sara's bed. Both eyes take me in. Not one, trying to even her vision. Her voice sounds normal and some of the nausea leaves me. I didn't realize I was freaked she'd be drinking again until I see that she isn't.

"Hey."

"Did you have fun?" Mom asks.

No. "Yeah."

"Good. I'm glad. You deserve it. I want to hear all about it in the morning, okay?"

I nod, even though the words, 'not likely' are swimming in my head. "Night, Ma. I love you."

"I love you too, Carter."

I pull the door closed and then head for my room, before stopping. I don't know what makes me do it. Why I can't just leave stuff alone, but after one quick glance to make sure Sara's door is closed, I slip into Mom's room. My feet carry me straight to the closet. To the box, where I lift my baby blankets. A bottle sits inside. It's closed. Never been open and full, but it's still here. My hands itch to pick it up. To slam it against the wall and break it. Instead, I slip it back, close the door and go back to my room. I should take it. I don't know why I don't. It's like I can't make myself go there. I can't grow the hell up and do what needs to be done.

It's full though. That means she's not drinking. It could have been there for weeks. Since before. Maybe she even forgot it was there.

The suit hits the floor as I drop in bed in my boxers. I didn't get my night tonight and so I'm going to try and salvage some of it now. I'm tired of worrying about everyone else. I'm not going to think about that unopened bottle. I have a date with my girl, and I want to enjoy it. Picking up the phone, I dial.

Kira picks up on the first ring. "So what are you wearing?" I tease. She laughs.

Finally, it's just us.

***

It's hard to look at Travis the same way when we see each other at school. The guy inside me without an alcoholic for a Mom knows it shouldn't be this weird. I mean, I hate what happened, but it's not like half the people in my school haven't been drunk before. A lot of them have probably puked before, too. It doesn't make them alcoholics. Travis is just trying to deal, just like Mom.

Still, things are different, even though it makes me a jerk for feeling that way. I need to talk to him about his parents. Help him get his head on straight and see what we saw that night, but right now, I can't. I'm tired. So tired of dealing with people who can't hold their shit together. If I can't lose it, why does everyone else get to?

Especially right now.

"Mom?" It's been a week since the dance. I sneak in her room every day and the bottle it still there. I know it's stupid, but I even made a little mark in the label so I'd know if it was a different one. It's still untouched. I don't know if I should be happy or upset about that. I hate that it's there, but glad that it's still there at the same time.

She looks over at me from her position of scrubbing the kitchen counter, pushing a strand of brown hair out of her face. "Hey, you." She looks down at the counter again, scrubbing.

"How...how are you?" I lean against the counter beside her.

She blows out a deep breath, the hair swaying with the force of air. "I'm okay. I'm sad, but I'm okay. I promise." Mom stops scrubbing before standing beside me. Her head drops to my shoulder. "I miss him so much, kiddo. He..." she hiccups and I know she's crying. My eyes burn, too. "He changed my life. He made me happy. He loved me, so much." She squeezes my arm. "He gave me you. Your dad loved you so much, Carter. I never saw his eyes light up the way I did when he would look at you."

A couple tears leak out of my eyes. "Really?"

"Oh yes." Mom grabs my hand and pulls me to the table. "We were young when we had you, but he was so happy. He wanted you so much,. God, he was so full of love. He worked so hard to give us everything he could." She laughs. "He tried to make up for my dad, you know. He used to tell me he would make sure he'd tell me he loved me at least once every day of our lives, to make sure I knew how special I was. You get that from him. How you love? It's just like your dad."

Pride swells inside me. I've always wanted to be like him.

"You, me, and basketball. We were your dad's life. He used to tell me you'd be better than him one day. You are. I'm sure he gets a kick out of that."

It feels like my skin cracks open and light spills out. "You think? Really think I'm better than he was?"

Half of Mom's mouth rises. "Oh come on, Carter. You know you're the man."

Hearing Mom say 'the man' makes me laugh.

"It's hard to believe it's been so long. It feels like yesterday." Softly, she starts to cry again and I abandon my original idea.

"What do you want to do tonight? Movie and Chinese?"

Mom shakes her head. "No. I know you want to go out with Kira tonight. You deserve to spend the night with your girlfriend and not babysit me. Sara's with Bill and I bought a half gallon of ice cream, stuff to give myself a pedicure. I'm going to spend the night spoiling myself the way he would have." She pats my hand and stands up. Her words sound right, but it feels wrong. I can't leave her. Not on the anniversary of my dad's death.

"Mom..."

"It's not up for debate. I'm okay to be alone. I promise."

There's a war being fought inside me. A one on one game. I know I shouldn't leave her, but I want to. I want to go out with Kira and have the night we should have had last week. I don't want to be the guy who has to worry about his mom if he goes out with his girlfriend. "You're sure?"

"I have the only son in the world that would make me kick him out. Go. Have fun with your girlfriend. Not too much fun, though."

"Lalalala. Don't make me hear that again." I back away laughing. "I'm going. I'm going."

Mom's voice stops me as I start to walk away. "I love you, Carter."

Looking at her, I say, "I love you too, Ma."

The whole time I'm getting ready, I think about what I want to do. I'm going to do it. I'm taking the bottle. If she looks for it, she'll be upset, but I don't care. It's better than the alternative.

When I push open her bedroom door, she's in her room, folding clothes. "Hey. Need something?" she asks. It's not like I can tell her, 'hey, mind leaving for a minute so I can steal your vodka?'.

"No, no. Just wanted to say bye." She'll be okay, I tell myself as I walk away. She'll be okay.

***

I pick Kira up at about five. She climbs into my truck, putting a picnic basket on her lap. She tosses a big duffle bag on the floorboard.

"What's that?" I point to the basket.

"Dinner, of course."

"I figured I'd take you out for dinner." My truck is idling in her driveway.

"And I figured I'd make you dinner. I think we should stay as far away from other people as we can tonight. Like that night in the Jacuzzi? That was perfect. We need to find a place where no one can bother us. Your choice because you know the area better than me."

For the second time, I realize I love this girl. Like, actually love her. "I know a place, but are you sure? It's cold."

"Afraid of a little cold weather?" she mocks, making me laugh.

"Nope. Gives me the opportunity to keep you warm."

It takes us thirty minutes to get there. The road is just as dark as I remember. I almost miss the driveway, but catch it at the last minute. Leaving the truck going, I jump out and unlock the old gate so we can drive in.

"Breaking and entering again?"

Shaking my head, I say, "Nope. I wouldn't have the key if that was the case. This is my grandpa's house. He doesn't live here, but he won't sell it or give it to Mom either. It's just his way of giving her something else to take care of. We're not going inside though." My truck bounces around in potholes as we go down the driveway. It continues past the house, getting bumpier and more off-road than when we first started.

When we get there, I turn around and back up until we're almost to the lake. "Come on." I tell her, getting out of the truck. I walk around, grabbing the bag while she takes the basket. It's November so it's already dark even though it's early evening. The trees make shadows, bouncing off the lake. Above the water is a perfect clearing, showing the stars in a different way than we see them in town.

"Carter, it's beautiful." Kira's standing next to me.

"Mom told me she used to sneak out of the house and meet my dad down here. Are there blankets in the bag?" The night doesn't need to start out on a sad note.

"A girl always comes prepared." Laughing I lower the door on my truck bed, climb up and lay out the three blankets. "Will you do me a favor and grab the flashlights out of my glove box?" I ask her. The moon is really bright tonight, giving us light, but I want to see her as best I can.

The basket clunks into the truck bed, followed by the flashlights and then Kira is climbing up too. We sit in the middle of the blankets as she pulls out some sandwiches, fruit, and sodas.

"Hey, I thought you said you were cooking me dinner!"

"I did. This is my way of cooking."

"You're crazy."

She winks. "I know."

We eat dinner and then I pull out my phone and we challenge each other to a couple games of Angry Birds. The time flies, a few hours passing too quickly.

"It's getting cold." Kira scoots up and pulls one of the blankets over her, before leaning against the window.

"That's my cue." Suddenly, I'm kind of nervous, which might make me insane. I've never been nervous with a girl in my life. I definitely shouldn't be nervous with this girl.

Balling the backpack up, I lay it down, and put my head on it. "Come here. Let me keep you warm."

I hold my arm out and Kira cuddles inside, laying her head in the crook of my arm. I'm pretty sure she belongs there. We're lying under the blanket, her heat against my side. It's perfect.

"Can we talk? I mean, I know we can talk, but I didn't know if you wanted to talk about—"

"You can ask me anything you want," I interrupt her.

"What you said about your grandpa earlier?"

I groan, not wanting to talk about him, but willing to tell her anything regardless. "He's a prick. He was an alcoholic the whole time Mom grew up. Verbally and emotionally abusive to her and my grandma. Mom was...well, I guess you can say she was probably a nerd in high school. She told me she didn't have many friends or anything. She was really shy and kept to herself, but then..."

"She met your dad," she finishes for me.

"I'm sure they always knew each other. They went to the same school, but he played ball. They hung out in different crowds and stuff." The urge to touch her more takes me over and I slide my other hand over her stomach, then hoping and praying it's okay, I let it slip under her shirt a little. Not too far, but enough so I can brush my thumb against her bare stomach.

"Is this okay?"

"You wouldn't have your hand if it wasn't."

Somehow, I believe her.

"Anyway." Brush, brush, brush. Her skin is so soft, so perfect, I can't stop feeling it. "Mom and her family went out to dinner one night and her dad started in on her. They left, but he blew up at her in the parking lot. Dad was there, saw them, yelled at grandpa and then started talking to her at school. They were friends at first, but she said after like six months, he kissed her. They had to sneak around because my grandpa obviously hated him. Graduation night, she didn't go home and never went back.

"His parents let her stay with them, since they were both eighteen and all. My dad's parents are awesome. He probably could have gone to any school he wanted because he was good at ball, but he stayed local. Went to school, they got a tiny apartment. His parents helped them a lot. They loved Mom. They helped her open her store, too. He was still in college when they had me. I think it was the first time she knew what it was like to have a real family. His parents moved to Washington when he died, but we still talk to them all the time."

"It's like a fairytale," Kira whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. They loved each other a lot, didn't they?" Her voice is soft. She rolls toward me, so my hand drifts to her side.

"Yeah... it was hard on her and Bill. She never loved him the way she did Dad."

"I wonder if my mom has or had that kind of love. It sucks not knowing. I mean, I guess she couldn't have. Why would she have left me if she did, but I still wonder."

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. That I love her that way. That I would do the same things for her. That I love her the way Dad loved Mom. "You could always go ask her. Have you decided yet?"

"No. I still don't know."

My hand is big, splayed in the dip of her waist. She feels so small, so good.

"You'll figure it out. You'll do the right thing, no matter which way you decide."

She leans closer.

I lean closer.

My hand runs up her back, over her bra strap and back down, just needing skin to skin contact.

"Are you going to kiss me or what, Coach?"

I'm smiling against her lips, but then I can't concentrate enough to smile. Only enough to kiss her. She moans a little in my mouth and it's awesome. Knowing I affect her the same way she affects me. Rolling onto my back, I pull her with me so she's lying on top of me rather than the hardness of the truck. She kisses my neck. I kiss hers. Nips my earlobe. I do the same.

Energy zips through my body. Maybe through my body, into her and back to me again.

"Kira, " I whisper against her mouth.

"Carter," she throws back at me.

"I—" My phone beeps, contrasting the quiet.

"Crap." I fumble for it. A sudden sickness wiping out all Kira's electricity.

The name BILL lights up my screen.

Pushing to sit up, I hit talk. Kira kind of rolls off me at the same time. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing. Sara was having a bad day and wanted her mom so I brought her home a few hours ago. I just wanted to call and check in, but your mom must have let her phone die because it's going straight to voicemail."

I feel like I died too. Sara is home. Sara is home with Mom on the anniversary of my dad's death. And I know she's been sober and she promised me she would be okay, but somehow, I know she's not. I probably knew when I left, but I went anyway. And my little sister is with her because I went out.

I see that bottle sitting in the box. The very full bottle that she could drink. How drunk would that make her? For all I know, she could even have more. Would she wait until Sara is asleep? Why didn't I take it earlier? At least stay until she finished folding the clothes so I could take her bottle.

"Carter? Are you there?" Bill's voice says. I'm climbing out of the truck. When did I move?

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm sure everything is good. I'm actually on my way home right now."

"Okay, well it's no biggie. I just wanted to check in."

"All right. See you later." I try to sound calm, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I hit end on the call. "Come on. We gotta go."

Kira doesn't ask questions, just starts grabbing the blankets and helping me stuff them in the truck. A few seconds later, we're both in the cab, the truck is started and I'm peeling away. My hands are shaking as I grip the wheel.

"Do you want me to drive?" Kira asks.

"No."

"Okay, slow down and be careful. It won't help if we don't get there okay."

"Sara's home. Bill brought her home on the day my dad died? What was he thinking? Fuck! What was I thinking? I never should have left her."

Kira mumbles a curse. "She said she was fine, right? I'm sure she's fine, Carter. She hasn't been drinking at all lately. I doubt she would do it with Sara. And if she is...you know it isn't your fault, right?"

Her question isn't worth replying to. Fighting will just slow me down. How could things have changed so fast? I'd been laying there with Kira feeling free and now this. She's drinking with Sara and I know it, which means I'd known she would drink all along. Knew it, but I still left. Talk about selfish.

The second we pull into the driveway, I run to the door. As soon as I have it unlocked, I toss my keys to Kira who ran up behind me. I don't want her to see this. Can't handle the thought of her hearing Mom slur my name, or need me to carry her up the stairs.

"Take my truck home. I'll call you tomorrow and you can bring it back."

"Carter."

I turn to her. "Please, Kira. Just go. I can take care of it."

Racing into the house, I slide to a stop at what I see. Mom lying across the couch. Black and purple bruises on one of her arms, like she fell or ran into something really hard. She's always bruised easy and quick, but this is bad. The coffee table is wiped free, her stupid knickknacks and candles scattered on the floor.

And I can't move. My whole body is frozen, staring at Mom. A very drunk, passed out, Mom.