Untouchable (Unstoppable 1)

I couldn't even say how long I'd been in love with Maddox Renner. Only that I was. And he'd just pried open the lid on Pandora’s box.

“Riley?”

I looked up at him through a veil of tears.

“Jesus, Riley? What…” His voice faded to nothing.

I couldn't. I couldn't love somebody who was incapable of loving me back.

She didn't know it, but my mom wasn't a sex addict. She didn’t even know how lost and broken she was. Searching without even knowing what for. She had an old shoebox with four rubber bands around it. She didn't know I'd opened it, but inside were the remains of the heart some selfish guy had taken, drained, crushed, and handed back to her like an unwanted gift. Along with her self-respect.

She wouldn't say it, but she'd genuinely loved my father. Even at fifteen. If the tattered diary she'd poured her heart and soul into was anything to go by. She’d stopped writing in it a couple of months before I was born. I’d never asked her about it but that, and the small collection of photos she clearly cherished, painted a damning picture. She'd loved him most of her life. And it hadn't mattered to him one bit. He'd still used her, took from her, the way all men like him use women. Then when he'd had his fill, he'd walked away, leaving her empty of everything. Except me.

She never really found her way back. So she just searched every dick she could find, looking for love, or a connection, or… something. She made the best of the highs, but I'd been there for the lows. Days when darkness seemed to smother her, when she got lost in the past and memories sucked her under like quicksand. Daylight always crept in. She got up. She got on. She'd paint her face, pop one of her pills, and pretend like something wasn’t missing, like she didn't allow men to use her body in a quest to fill some void. Christ, the woman danced in a club for a job, and not just for the pay. She needed to feel wanted. And she'd take it any way she could get it. But she'd learned to make her face up without a mirror, because she couldn't bear the sight of her reflection.

Reno's face appeared in front of mine, his hands softly gripping my upper arms.

He was a guy like him.

Without looking at him, I murmured, “Don't touch me.”

Sober as a judge now, his demeanour calm and controlled, he let go of me.

“Stop freaking out, Ri. We both knew this would happen, we've been circling each other for years. Leon changed nothing. Never did. He was a distraction, a shit one at that, and you know it. He just held off the inevitable.”

Inevitable what? Fuck, screw, bang? And then what? He’d leave and take all the important parts of me with him.

“No,” I said. “I can't.” Shaking myself loose, I bolted.

I heard him shouting my name and ignored it.

Out of everyone, it couldn't be him. He'd break me down to bare bones.

And I'd let him.

Nine

Riley

Thanksgiving was one of the rare occasions my mom cooked. And by cooked, I meant nuked some frozen turkey and canned veg, and made up some powdered potatoes. The cranberry sauce came from a jar left over from last year. It was probably fine to eat.

We sat on the couch with plates in our laps, watching the parade. Normally, Mom would invite Mrs. Weston to join us, but we’d had a wet spell when November hit and she'd taken a fall on soggy leaves taking out her trash. Now she was in Claremont General, her leg in a cast.

I shifted my attention from the screen and looked at my mom. My heart squeezed. Her smile rounded her cheeks and the slightest of crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes. She'd tried. I knew she'd tried. She’d just had no business having a baby at fifteen. And she’d had no business giving her heart away so carelessly, or so young. It was reckless, and I wasn't going down that road. Ever.

I'd successfully avoided, ignored, or dodged Reno for over three weeks now. He'd tried speaking to me the day after the kiss. I'd told him to shove it and never talk to me again. At lunch, Raya perched herself on his thigh as usual and finger fed him fries, shooting daggers at me in between. He let her. If that wasn't the slap in the face I desperately needed, then I didn't know what was. Of course, I didn't love him. It was the heat of the moment. And even if I did harbor some feelings, well, I'd just damned well refuse to. I'd pretend he didn't exist until it didn't matter that he did. People did it all the time.

By the time the parade ended, my mom was snoring softly, her empty plate tilted precariously across her lap and her drained soda can loosely clutched in her fingers. I took both without waking her and scraped the dishes, washing and drying them before grabbing the trash and heading outside to the nearest communal dumpster.

Hushed voices traveled from behind the wood housing and I halted my approach, fingers tightening on the plastic bag in my hand. Straining to hear better, I recognized one of the voices immediately. I should; I heard it in my dreams every night, damn him. Debating whether to carry on or just turn around and cram the trash in our overflowing can, something about the tone of Reno's voice edged me closer, my steps feather light against the leaf-strewn ground.

“Get the fuck out of it, man. It's never just one time, Owen, and you know it.”

“I'm not fucking in, Madd. They helped me out. I'm returning the favour. One-time deal, nothing owed. They're even gonna throw in a sweetener, man.”

“A sweetener? It doesn't work like that. They saw a fucking opportunity.”

“Fuck you. I can handle myself. I don't need my kid brother telling me my shit.”