Текст книги "Sweet Nothing"

Автор книги: Teresa Mummert

Соавторы: Jamie McGuire
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

The night shift during a full moon had irritated my achy muscles more than I’d admit, but instead of going home to rest, I found myself walking into St. Ann’s ER. Even if every step was agony, it was worth the pain to see Avery. She didn’t seem to be suffering at all. In fact, our collision was a turning point neither of us had seen coming.

Once the ambulance bay doors swept open, I saw Avery right away. She was scribbling quickly with her left hand in a chart. She glanced at the cheap watch on her small wrist and then jotted down a few more lines. Her hair was pulled back into a single braid cascading down the back of her turquoise scrubs, moving to the side when she turned to see who was approaching.

“I thought that was you,” she said, shoving the chart into a cubbyhole.

“It was the boots, right?” I asked.

She looked down, chuckling.

I scanned her face, noting the braid had fallen over her right shoulder, and the way her mascara lightly clumped around her lashes. It was morning, her makeup was still fresh, and her scrubs hadn’t met with anyone’s bodily fluids, yet. Either way, she was stunning.

The accident had given us something that only we held in common, but appreciating that felt wrong. Avery had almost been killed.

“Avery,” I said.

She looked up, and I saw something in her smile I hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t only happy to see me—she’d been looking forward to it.

“Have lunch with me,” I blurted out.

After a half-second of surprise, Avery scanned my face, looking for something. She didn’t trust me, and who could blame her?

She twisted her wrist to look at her watch, and then pushed away from the counter in front of her. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the waiting room and then leaned in, looking straight at me—no running her fingers nervously through her hair, no shifting her weigh from one leg to the other, no looking up at me from under her lashes. She wasn’t intimidated by anything, and I had to know why.

“It’s Jacobs.”

I grinned. “So, does that mean you’re going to call me Avery? Because that’s just weird.”

She blinked and then stumbled over her next words. “Fine. First names. But I’m still not going out with you. At least, not for lunch.”

“Not for lunch … then dinner?”

Someone called her last name, and then Avery went into action. “If you’ll excuse me …” Avery slid by, leaving me standing alone at the nurses’ station.

“Ouch,” Ashton said, resting her full cheek on the heel of her hand.

Carissa Ashton was a charge nurse in the ER, and one of my easier conquests when I had first moved to Philadelphia. Ashton couldn’t let our one evening together go, and she seemed to be fully enjoying the sight of me getting shot down by Jacobs.

My nostrils flared, and I gritted my teeth to keep my mouth shut.

“Doesn’t look like you’re taking that one home tonight. Did you say you were heading to lunch? What about brunch? I get off in fifteen minutes.”

“I can’t, Ashton. Go f—have a pleasant rest of the day.”

She frowned but said nothing else as I made my way back out to the parking lot.

I drove home half confused, half pissed. I’d never had to work this hard for any girl, and it was even more maddening because I could tell Avery wasn’t totally opposed. She was waiting for something. A gesture, maybe? Or was she still wrapped up in Doc Rose? Avery wasn’t the type to care about the white coat or the title. Maybe the stability, the assumed dependability. He at least appeared to have his shit together. He’d settled down, and Quinn had mentioned the doc had a house in Alapocas. I could never give Avery that, but I was one ring-less finger better than Doc Rose.

I jogged up the stairs of my building and turned the key. Stale beer and bad breath infiltrated my senses, and I frowned at the sight of Quinn, who was still sleeping off his hangover on my couch. I knew he was partially to blame. The little stunt he’d pulled at the bar had less than impressed Avery, and it was hard to look like I was winning at life while hanging out with sloppy people.

Quinn was a douche, sure, but he was a loyal douche. I hadn’t met any friends like him since I’d moved to Philadelphia. He knew my shit and wanted to be my friend anyway.

Grabbing his ankle, I pulled him until his body rolled to the floor with a thud.

“Fuck! What was that for?” he asked with his right eye barely opened to stare up at me.

“Get up. Party’s over.”

With a groan, he pushed to his hands and knees before standing on unsteady feet. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a car.”

“That’s funny. You know who has been hit by a car?” Shoving my finger into my own chest, I winced at how even such a small movement caused such unbelievable pain. I wasn’t a small guy, spending most of my spare time in the gym. I’d learned in seventh grade after an after-school brawl that weight training was a healthier way to vent my frustration than picking fights and ending up in juvie. “This guy. I still managed not to drink myself into a stupor, humiliate myself, and sleep away an entire day.”

“Maybe you’re just not applying yourself.” After shooting me a crooked grin, Quinn padded his way to my kitchen and opened the fridge. “You really need to get groceries, man. This is no way to treat company.”

“You’re not company, and if I lived in my mom’s basement, I would have my shelves stocked, too.”

“I live in her apartment building, not her basement. Totally different.”

“Does she wash your underwear?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go down to Tootie’s and grab some eggs after I change my clothes.”

“You buying?”

My teeth clenched, and I threw my coffee-stained shirt in the dirty laundry hamper. “Just get up.”

“All right, all right. Jesus, you’re cranky today,” Quinn said, pulling on his jeans.

“Just—” I sighed “—try not to say anything stupid to anyone with tits today.”

“Oh. You’re still pissed about Jacobs.”

I ripped my belt from the loops and folded it in half, glaring at him.

He held up his hands. “Okay. You’re right. I fucked up. It’s been a while and I was nervous, so I might have tried for liquid courage.”

“I’m pretty sure you drank liquid jackass instead.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You introduced Jacobs as slavery, and then you puked sushi and raisins all over the ground.”

Quinn looked around, trying to remember. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering the look on her face when she walked away from me at the hospital. She had the upper hand, and she knew it. “Get dressed.”

I’d consumed enough food to feed a small village, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Instead of going back to my apartment, Quinn used his mom’s apple pie as a peace offering. We walked back to his place and then helped his mother move a bedroom set she’d found from a secondhand store to the third floor of her apartment building.

“You sure you’re all right, man?” Quinn was leaning back against his mother’s counter, polishing off a thick piece of pie.

“I’ll live.”

He shook his head but didn’t press me any further. I didn’t need anyone looking over my shoulder, and Quinn understood that. Despite his frequent fuckups, he was a good guy.

“You boys have plans this evening?” his mother asked as she handed Quinn a napkin and a glass of milk. I shook my head, struggling not to laugh at how helpless he became in the presence of his mommy, a spitfire Italian.

“I got something I gotta do.” I walked toward the door with a wave. “Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Cipriani.”

Quinn lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

I was practically running on fumes by the time I slipped out of the old brick housing unit and made my way down to Tit for Tat, a small tattoo joint I saw on my way to work every day. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be seeing the inside of one of these places for a long time, but it had become a superstitious ritual now. A bell chimed overhead when I pulled open the door. A man with a Mohawk and more ink than a paperback glanced up at me through dark-rimmed hipster glasses.

“Just finishing up here, man. Check out the flash on the walls. It will just be a second.” He wiped a towel over the arm of the woman he was tattooing, smearing a small stain of ink across her milk-colored flesh.

I nodded, glancing over the drawings hanging on the walls. There were a lot of traditional pieces and some new age tattoos that looked like they could be in a gallery somewhere. But I wasn’t up for something fancy. My tattoo was more of a scoreboard—a death cheat sheet.

Shoving my hands deep into my jean pockets, I roamed around the lobby area, averting my eyes from the woman’s breast now in clear view as she showed one of the employees her nipple ring she was worried was becoming infected.

The cash register slammed closed, and the tattoo artist called to me. “Sorry about the wait.” I turned around, approaching the front desk. It was made of glass with various body jewelry and morbid décor inside. “Can you give me an idea of what you’re looking for?”

“No problem.” I reached behind my head, grabbing the back of my basic cotton T-shirt and pulling it off. The ball chain necklace holding a single penny fell against my chest. I ran my fingers over my left ribs, tracing the nine tiger stripes that cut across my skin. “I earned another stripe.”

The man stepped from around his counter and bent down to get a closer look at the work before standing back up to his full height. He was much thinner than I was but several inches taller than my six-foot frame.

“I hope this isn’t a body count. Most guys just opt for a tear drop or a few dots.”

I laughed as he tilted his head toward his station. “No, just a few times death got too close.”

“I thought cats only had nine lives. You’re pushing your luck. Have a seat and tell me about it.”

I sank down on the black cushioned seat that reminded me of a dentist chair and described the moments before impact. It paled in comparison to some of my other close encounters, but this time we’d all walked away relatively unscathed, leaving me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I shuddered at the thought of Avery almost losing her life right before my eyes. As if having those memories of my sister on loop weren’t hellish enough, now I had Avery’s close call to torment me. Since I had been young, it had seemed like I was a magnet for bad things. Guilt flooded my gut as I thought of how selfish it was for me to continue to pursue Avery knowing that fact.

I’d earned my first stripe at just seven, although it wouldn’t be branded on my body until years later. For the first time, my curse had made itself known, taking from my life one of the most important people to me, shaping me into the aimless mess I was now.

“Can I take Kayla fishing?” I asked Mom as she finished mixing the batter for my sister’s birthday cake. She was turning three years old, and half our family from across Liberty County was coming over to celebrate.

“Kayla?” Mom yelled as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a powder-white residue.

My baby sister came clunking down the stairs from her bedroom, her yellow teddy bear, Oliver, clenched in her little fist.

“Cake?”

“Not yet, sweetie. Go out back and play with your brother. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Josh, you make sure you watch her.” My mother’s firm stare met mine and I nodded, grabbing Kayla’s free hand and tugging her toward the back door. I didn’t need to be reminded to watch my little sister.

We slipped into the yard and both broke out into a full sprint as we made our way to the small boat dock at the edge of our rural Georgia property.

Kayla stopped with the toes of her tennis shoes on the first slat of wood.

“Come on, Kayla. You’re a big girl now. I have to teach you to fish. Dad is too busy, so it’s my job.” I grabbed the two sticks I’d spent the day working on. Tied to the ends were some old fishing line and plastic bait. I held one out for my sister, who beamed from ear to ear.

“Come on.” I turned and walked to the end of the dock with the pitter-patter of her small feet not far behind me.

We sat on the edge, our feet dangling over the water as we soaked up the hot southern sun. We didn’t catch anything because I knew mom would freak out if I took any of Dad’s hooks for my new poles, but Kayla didn’t mind. She had fun just the same.

“I’m hungry.” Kayla pouted as a warm breeze pushed her dark, shoulder-length curls across her face.

I looked back at the house just beyond the trees. It wasn’t that far. She could sit on the dock alone for the couple of minutes it would take me to run to the pantry and back. “I’ll grab us some crackers if you watch my line.”

Kayla nodded in agreement, and I handed her my stick. I stood, brushing the dirt from my bottom. “Be still, Kayla. No dancing or nothin’ until I get back. Just hold the poles.”

She nodded, peering up at me with her big, sparkly eyes, looking happy and tiny and a little pink already from the sun.

“I’ll get you a hat, too,” I said. I hurried back across the yard and into the kitchen, excited the family would all be there soon.

“No junk food,” my mother warned, her eyebrow raised as she continued prepping for the party.

“I know, Mom.” I grabbed a box of crackers and pulled open the fridge as the front screen door squeaked on its hinges. Dad was home from work.

“Where’s my birthday girl?” he yelled. I could tell in his voice he was tired, but he smiled for Kayla anyway.

“She’s out back playing,” my mother replied.

Dad leaned in and kissed Mom on the cheek before glancing out the kitchen window.

“Where? The swings are empty.”

“She’s on the dock, Dad. I took her fishing.” I walked over to my father, pushing up on my tiptoes to point out the wooden walkway. My smile slowly fell as I looked for my sister. The dock was empty. Only her yellow teddy bear remained.

“John…?” Mom said Dad’s name like she was asking a question. Her voice was thick with worry.

“I told her to be still,” I said. “That I’d be right back.”

“Oh, God,” Mom said.

Dad was already out the door. “She’s not out there!” he screamed as he rushed across the backyard toward the water.

Cake batter splattered up the sides of the cupboards when my mother dropped the bowl she’d held in her hands. She chased after my father while I stood helplessly, watching from the window.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since they’d sprinted out the door. Boy, Kayla was going to be in trouble for not listening to me.

Nerves twisted my belly into knots as I waited to see the mess of dark curls that sat atop my sister’s head. I hoped Dad would still let her eat her cake tonight. I would tell them it was all my fault if they didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin her birthday.

My father’s head broke the surface of the pond, dark circles of water rippling from his body, expanding outward. That was when I saw her. Her tiny body in my father’s arms made her seem like she was still just a baby.

Mom’s bare feet nearly slipped from the dock as she took Kayla from Dad’s arms so he could boost himself up onto the old planks of wood.

Lying her body down on the ground, Dad began to frantically push against her chest. Once in a while, Mom would stop crying and lean down over Kayla’s face. Chills rushed through my body, and I began to shiver, recognizing something was wrong. Kayla wasn't pretending. Mom and Dad were afraid. I’d never seen Dad scared of anything, not even when the Radleys turned their garage into a haunted house two Halloweens ago.

“Come on, Kayla,” I mumbled to myself. Unable to wait, I rushed to the back door and fumbled with the handle.

I hurdled toward them, feeling like I had to do something, anything, to help her. By the time I reached them, Mom was sobbing and covering her face. Dad was slouched over, looking at my baby sister with his hands on his knees and lake water dripping from his chin.

“Is she okay, Dad?”

He didn’t answer.

“What can I do?” I asked, feeling something awful surround me. “Dad? What can I do?”

Dad broke down, his cries harmonizing with Mom’s. I knelt down to hold Kayla’s tiny, cold hand in mine.

“It’s going to be okay, Kayla,” I said.

Mom wailed.

I sat in silence, wishing I could do more. But I had no idea what it was she needed. We were all helpless, sitting around Kayla. Her pretty curls were wet and splayed out on the grass. Tears burned my eyes while I waited for her to wake up, because deep down I knew she wouldn’t.

“Kayla?” I said one last time, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Not knowing why we couldn’t save her, and next to my sister on the ground, I promised myself I would never feel helpless again.

With cellophane taped to my freshly inked ribs, I dragged myself back to the apartment, desperate for a few hours of sleep. I knew I wouldn’t have long before Quinn was calling me again, wanting to party, and truth be told, I welcomed a break from reality. The past few days had begun to stir some repressed memories inside me. Kayla’s death was hard enough to relive; the last thing I wanted was for the rest to come back full force.

Falling back on my double bed, I closed my eyes, groaning as Dax jumped across my stomach and snuggled into my side.

I’d gotten a full four hours of shuteye before the heat from Dax’s puppy belly began to make me sweat. It was crazy how such a tiny thing make me could feel like I was under an electric blanket. I tugged off my clothes and groggily made my way to my bathroom, rushing through a warm shower.

As I smeared some ointment on my newest stripe, my phone chimed with a message from Quinn. He texted me a picture of the sign from Corner Hole Bar, and then a second picture. It took me a moment to figure out what it was: the back of Avery’s head.

Smirking to myself, I typed out a quick response, letting him know I’d be right there before changing into a fresh T-shirt and jeans. I headed out into the night, walking faster than I’d ever admit. One thing I loved about the North was the bars were open on Sundays, although Pennsylvania was a weird state where you could only get your alcohol from bars and state stores. It wasn’t like back home in Georgia where I could pick up a six-pack at the gas station.

Corner Hole was full of the usual suspects: doctors and nurses fresh from their shift and a few other third shifters peppered alongside local alcoholics. I nodded at Quinn, who held up a beer before looking to his left. I followed his gaze and locked eyes with Avery, who was laughing at something her friend Deb had said. She tucked her hair behind her ear, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to suppress her wide smile.

I stared at her for a moment, unable to look away. It wasn’t until Quinn stepped into my view that I let the connection be broken.

“I don’t want to be a dick, but I call dibs on the brunette.”

I glanced around him to Deb, who was still engulfed in her conversation with Avery. Avery wasn’t as invested, still sneaking glances in my direction.

“She’s all yours, buddy.” I patted his shoulder before I walked toward the bar, struggling to suppress a laugh. Deb was a fireball, and she would eat Quinn alive, but she may have been the only kind of woman who could put him in his place besides his mother.

Leaning against the bar, I held up two fingers to Ginger, the barmaid. She nodded as she grabbed two Budweisers from the cooler and popped off the caps.

“You gonna keep an eye on this asshole tonight?” she asked as she tilted her head toward Quinn.

He mumbled something inappropriate under his breath as he picked up his beer. His grin widened as Ginger flicked her artificial auburn hair behind her shoulder.

“I’ll do my best.” I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and fished out two twenty-dollar bills, slapping them on the bar. “Can I get a round for those ladies? The usual.”

Ginger raised her eyebrow before pouring out two Cowboy Cocksucker shots.

I held up my beer to Avery as she smiled appreciatively. Deb picked up her glass and winked at Quinn before she ran her tongue over her lips and downed her drink.

“I’m hittin’ that tonight. How about you and her friend?” Quinn said, his words already slurring.

“I already hit her the other night, remember?” I laughed, and the fresh stripe tattoo on my side rubbed against the material of my shirt, reminding me the situation wasn’t funny at all. Not before, and not now. Getting involved with Avery was dangerous—for both of us. She could get hurt—even more seriously this time—and I had a feeling that would wreck me.