Toby’s left fist connected with my jaw and pain exploded across my mouth. I staggered back, reeling, and crashed to the ground.
He jabbed his finger at me. “That’s your only warning. Next time, I smash your teeth out. Not that you need them.”
The guys left with a few more sneering comments. I slowly got to my feet. Rubbing my aching jaw, I gathered my backpack and the notebooks that had fallen out. I spit out a wad of blood and watched it splatter to the ground. I imagined it was my stutter, finally ejected from my mouth, bloody and dead. It was gone now. Gone for good. I inhaled like Mrs. Marren taught me. Exhale. Inhale, exhale, then let the words fall out…
“M-M-My n-n-n-name’s Jim…”
Fuck.
I would have spat a curse, but that would have tripped on the way out too. I hurled my backpack at the chain-link fence and stared at the ground, breathing heavily. Slowly, I dragged dirt over the splotch of blood with my worn-out Chucks. Tried to bury it forever…
I woke up in a dark house with a fading, phantom ache in my jaw.
“Fucking pathetic,” I said.
That stutter was buried now, even if only in a shallow grave, and no one had to know how bad it had once been. Those days were gone. Hours upon hours piled up between then and now like bricks. I’d keep piling them up until the memories were only a bad dream and nothing more. I’d wipe them clean away, the way Thea’s mind wiped away her every waking moment.
Jesus, stop making everything about her.
I threw on my leather jacket and headed into town, prepared to erase my memory the old-fashioned way—by getting wasted.
In Boones Mill’s tiny downtown, I found a bar called Haven. Small, dark, and with a tiny stage, where a guy plucked out a song on his guitar. A flyer on the table said local acts were welcome. A fleeting image of me on the stage with my guitar came and went.
I nearly laughed out loud.
I ordered a beer from the waitress and listened to the guy warble out a country song to a bored audience of ten people. The waitress came back before I was halfway done with the beer.
“Ready for another?”
“Uh, sure.”
She leaned a hand on my table and smiled. Pretty. Her dark hai
r was in a ponytail and a tight black T-shirt strained over the curves of her breasts.
“Haven’t seen you here before and I’ve seen everybody.” She cocked a hip. “I’m Laura.”
“Jim.”
“New in town, Jim?”
I nodded.
“I thought so.” Laura’s smile turned private as she leaned closer. “Need someone to show you around? I make a pretty good welcome wagon.”
What she was offering was clear. No reason I shouldn’t take her up on it, except that Boones Mill was a hell of a lot smaller than Richmond. I didn’t take women home regularly, but when I did, it was for one and only one night. With minimal verbal interaction.
I don’t care if you stutter, Thea whispered in my ear. I just want you to keep talking to me.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m good.”
She pouted. “You sure? This town is so small and—”
“I’ll take that beer.” I raised my bottle.
Embarrassment flitted over her face, which she quickly covered with a scowl. “Sure thing.”
She stomped off, and I watched her go, her ass looking perfect in her tight jeans, and inwardly cursed at myself. Small town or not, it was a while since I’d had company.