When day three of no Tristan rolls around, I begin to develop an obsession, knowing something might be wrong. Even with the random, heavy-breathing phone calls I receive every day, I still can't concentrate on anything but Tristan. That night, I have a dream. The kind of dream that seeps deep into your blood and bones, the kind you can't forget or stop thinking about.
In it, I'm burning alive, same old, same old, until Tristan materializes in the middle of the violent flames with me, looking as horrified as he did when I told him to stop kissing me. Instead of running from the fire, he just stands there with me, burning alive. I want to open my mouth and beg him to get out, but my lips remain sealed. I want to push him back toward the door, but my feet stay firmly planted to the floor. I want to stop the fire, but just like when the fire happened in real life, I don't stop everything from igniting into flames. And we both end up burning, watching each other fade away into the smoke and flames. When I wake up, I swear my scars feel charred all over again and I can't shake the feeling that the dream is my subconscious trying to tell me something.
But what?
What are you trying to tell me?
As I lie in bed overanalyzing everything, my phone starts vibrating from the nightstand. I'm instantly wary about the incoming phone call, considering how late it is. The wariness multiplies when the unknown number flickers across the screen. This time, I don't answer it. If it is Conner, I don't want to talk to him or hear his breathing.
Eventually, the caller hangs up without leaving a voicemail, and I attempt to go back to sleep, but between the call and the dream, I'm wide awake and end up climbing out of bed to get a drink.
As I'm pouring a glass of milk, the sliding door glides open. Paranoia seizes me, and I spill milk all over the counter, reaching for a knife in the drawer, ready to fend off whoever is entering my home.
What if it's Conner?
But Jax wanders in from outside, bringing in the faint scent of cigarette smoke with him. He's sporting pajama bottoms and a jacket with the hood over his head. As he shuts the door, he catches sight of the knife in my hand and his jaw drops. "What the fuck, Avery?"
I lower the knife. "Sorry, I heard someone and thought..." I trail off, not wanting to worry him.
"Thought what?" he asks as he draws the hood off and unzips his jacket.
"Nothing." I set the knife on the counter and reach for a roll of paper towels. "What were you doing out there this late at night?"
"Smoking." He shucks off his jacket and drapes it over a table chair. "What are you doing standing in the kitchen in the dark?"
I rip off a paper towel from the roll and then flip on the light. "I couldn't sleep."
"Me neither." He crosses the kitchen and opens the fridge. "What was it about this time?"
I pause, in the middle of wiping up the puddle of milk. "What was what about?"
He grabs a cheese stick then shuts the refrigerator door. "Your nightmare." He faces me as he removes the wrapper. "That is why you can't sleep, right?"
I ball up the wet paper towel and toss it in the trash. "Yeah... but how did you know?"
He peels a thin piece of cheese off. "Because I can hear you sometimes when you wake up crying from them."
I frown as I screw the cap back on the milk. "You were never supposed to hear that."
"I've heard worse."
"I know... but I don't want to be the worse for you."
He sighs as he discards the wrapper into the trash. "You'll never be the worst part of my life, Avery. And you need to stop thinking that."
"I can't help it. I worry all the time."
"I know you do. You need to stop and start having some fun and enjoy the life you have."
"I do have fun," I protest as I put the milk away. "And I enjoy my life all the time."
"When do you ever have fun?" he asks condescendingly.
"Um, how about a week ago when I went to the concert?" I reply lamely as I bump the fridge door shut with my hip.
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you looked like you had fun when you came home. You were so tired and you'd been crying."
I gape at him. "You could tell I'd been crying?"
He bites the top of the cheese off. "I'm not blind. Of course I could tell."
"I know you're not blind, but..." I shake my head as I pick up the glass of milk. "I'll do better from now on, I promise. No more crying."
"That sounds nice in theory, but I don't want you to do better for us," he tells me. "I want you to do better for you. I worry about you. Not just with the crying and lack of sleep, but because you always seem lonely."
"Well, I'm not lonely."
"You seem like you are. And the last time you seemed that way you... Well, you know..." He trails off, but I know what he's going to say.
You became an alcoholic.
"I'm fine. I promise." I rotate the cup in my hand, thinking. "Besides, the nightmare wasn't really a nightmare, at least not my normal one. This one was just because... I was thinking too hard about something."
"About what?"
I shrug then swallow a gulp of milk. "Just some person I met at Habitat for Humanity who I'm worried about."
His brows shoot up in surprise. "A guy?"
"What? No." I clear my throat. "Well, okay. Yeah."
"I thought you didn't do guys."
"I don't."
"You sure about that?" He studies me meticulously from the other side of the kitchen island, then his teasing brother demeanor arises. "Because I wouldn't judge you if you did. It's been a long time, and you have to be super hor--"
"Do not finish that sentence." I stride across the kitchen and shove him toward the hallway. "Now go to bed. It's late."
He grins but does what he's told and heads for his bedroom. "Yes, Mother."
Moments later, I'm alone in the kitchen. I check the back door to make sure it's locked then finish off my milk and climb back into bed, my thoughts instantly drifting to Tristan again. Things would be so much easier if I just had his number so I could text him and...
And what?
What would be the point of texting him?
There wouldn't be one unless it was to break my rule for the third time with him.
God, things are getting so complicated. I can't help thinking how much simpler it would be if I had a few drinks in me. Tough situations were always easier when I was intoxicated. Of course, the simplicity was all an illusion that ended in flames.
As the alcoholic side of my brain momentarily takes over, an epiphany slaps me across the face.
Hard.
Three months.
Tristan has been clean for only three months.
And now he's disappeared.
And Nova is mad at me.
I know firsthand how temperamental recovering addicts can be. Whether it has anything to do with how hurt he looked when he walked away or not, I decide that I need to check up on him and make sure he's okay. No rule breaking, just doing what's right. If only I could convince myself that was the only reason.
But there's more to it than that.
Way too much more.
More than I fully understand.
Chapter 16
The irrevocable decision.
Avery
The next morning when I show up at the Habitat for Humanity home, I embark on a mission that is driven by determination and an unseen force and immediately seek out Nova. I find her out back, drinking a bottle of water and standing in the shade from the partial walls that are now up on the house. She's gazing out at the dry field behind the property, looking about as upset as she has been for the last three days.
"Hey," I say as I approach her, drawing my sunglasses off my eyes and dabbing my sweaty eyeliner with my fingertips.
She glances at me then formally smiles. "Oh hey, Avery. How's it going?"
"Good." I join her in the shade and recline against one of the boards. A gap of silence goes by while I try to figure out the best way to word what I need to ask. "So...
Is everything okay?"
She nods, twisting the lid back on the bottle. "Yeah, I was just taking a little break from the heat. Where I come from, it probably peaks to about sixty in September. This heat is insane"
"Yeah, it gets really hot here." I pause, itching at my arm as I stare at the ground. "I was actually wondering if everything was all right with... with Tristan."
"Yeah... he's just taking a little break from working." Her voice is tense.
I glance over at her. "Doing what?"
She shrugs, staring at the dry, crisp field again. "I don't know."
I don't want to cross a line, but I need to know. "Is he okay? I mean with... stuff."
Her gaze confronts me. "What kind of stuff are you talking about exactly?"
I shrug. "Recovery stuff."
She clutches the bottle and her expression is anything but friendly. I don't know how to respond to it because she always seems super nice.
"What happened between you two Tuesday night?" she asks.
"Tristan didn't tell you?"
"No. He doesn't tell me a lot of things--he doesn't tell a lot of people things."
I fiddle with a loop on my denim shorts. I'm usually not one for chatting about my personal life but I have a feeling Nova isn't going to give up the information unless I divulge. "We kissed, but I stopped things before they... got too far."
"Aw, shit," Nova sighs in dismay. Then she tips her head back and chugs the rest of the water. "I knew something went wrong and that's why..." She wipes a few drops of water from her lips, crunches the bottle with her hand, then hurries over to a trashcan near the corner of the property.
I skid down the sloped backyard, chasing after her. "And that's why what?"
"Why did you stop the kiss?" she asks accusingly.
I wince at the memory of the kiss. "That's kind of a personal question."
"Yeah, but I need to know."
"Why?"
"Because I've been pushing him toward you for the last week, and I'm starting to wonder just how badly I messed up."
I pull my sunglasses back over my eyes. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me."
She reaches into her pocket for a pack of gum. "Yeah, but you gave off a good vibe."
"You believe people do that?" I ask, moving my ponytail away from my sweaty neck and fanning my damp skin with my hand.
She unwraps a piece of gum. "Yeah, kind of." She pops the piece of gum into her mouth and chews it for a moment. "I'd like to believe I'm a good judge of character, so I need to know."
"Why I stopped the kiss with Tristan?" I check to make sure I'm following her. When she nods, I begrudgingly sigh, knowing I'm going to give her what she's asking for even though I really don't want to. "I did it for a lot of reasons, but the main one was because I don't trust my judge of character when it comes to men." I touch the bottom of my shirt that covers the most severe of my scars.
"Tristan's a good person," she says as she chucks the gum wrapper into the trashcan.
"I think I knew--know that. I just have trust issues." With men. With myself. With life. "But I need to make sure he's okay. I want to... to be his friend. And yours too." I smile so she knows I'm being authentic.
She contemplates what I've said. "You promise you won't hurt him?"
I nod. "I would never hurt anyone intentionally."
She carefully considers my answer before she sticks out her hand. "Give me your phone."
Puzzled, I hand it over. "Why?"
"Because I'm going to type in the address of the motel we're staying at." She swipes her finger across the screen then presses a few buttons before giving me my phone back. "I'm almost positive he'll be there. And I think it would be good for him if you visited, as long as your intentions are good."
I tuck my phone into my pocket, unsure how to react. I wasn't planning on going to visit him, just checking to make sure he's okay. "Okay... but I should probably go finish work first."
She waves me off. "I'll cover for you."
"Are you sure?" Because I'm not.
"Yes. Positive."
"Okay." I apprehensively nod then start toward the parking area out front, baffled, not just because I'm going but because I feel a pull to go... Well, in the direction of my Jeep at least.
"And Avery?" Nova calls out as she rushes after me.
I pause before turning around. "Yeah."
She checks from left to right as she hurries up to me. When she's inches away, she leans in and lowers her voice. "Tristan said that three months ago you found some... stuff on him."
"You mean drugs?" I ask quietly.
She nervously nods. "So you know his problem is more than just alcohol, then?"
Boy, do I.
"I do to an extent. But we don't know each other very well." Which is true. The main thing driving me toward Tristan is this crazy idea that sometimes dreams aren't dreams. And sometimes death isn't just death. That they both have a deeper meaning and purpose. And that Tristan has temporarily become the focus of that meaning and purpose like Jax and Mason usually are. How this happened, I have no idea.
As Nova fiddles with a leather band on her wrist, I notice that she has a tattoo underneath it--Never Forget--along with a scar. "Just know that Tristan slips up a lot and he might have slipped up the last couple of nights, so just be prepared."
I agonizingly recollect all the times I saw my mother doped up and how terrible of a person it made her. "He's high now?"
She swiftly shakes her head. "No, just hung over. Quinton's watching him today, so hopefully he'll be pretty decent by the time you get there."
I almost tell her that maybe I shouldn't go. That I'm in over my head. That, if Quinton's there, Tristan doesn't need me.
I should stay away.
I really should.
Walk away.
But Nova's looking at me with such hope in her eyes, and I swear I hear a silent cry from somewhere.
Help me.
Help him.
Help someone.
Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?
I'm not sure if it's Nova that needs my help, the situation, or if I can even help at all, but regardless I find myself agreeing to go check on Tristan. Then I head for my car, wondering what I've gotten myself into and if I can handle it.
If I want to handle it.
***
I stop at a store and buy some cupcakes on the way to the motel. Why? I have no idea other than I feel the need for procrastinating and sugar. I'm nervous and I almost turn around and drive back home several times, which is saying a lot considering the motel is only a couple of miles away from the construction site. I have so much going on already. School. Work. The Habitat for Humanity house. Mason. Jaxon. Bills. Sobriety. The future. The list is endless, and adding more to it seems ludicrous. But the thing that keeps me from completely turning the car around each time is the feeling that I need to go make sure he's okay, something no one ever did for me in the past. If someone would have, I might not be in this moment right now.
It's strange when I really think about it, how each decision I've made has altered my life in one way or another, taken me on another path. Life is so full of twists and turns that map our future. Some we take on our own and others we're yanked onto. Right now, I feel like I'm taking a new turn toward...
Well, I'm not sure yet.
Nor am I positive if I'm taking it on my own.
But I'm anxious to find out.
After forty-five minutes of procrastination, I pull up to a motel that reminds me of the apartments in The Subs--all worn out, overused, abused, in desperate need of some fixing up. The appearance makes it even more difficult to get out.
I stay in the car for quite a few minutes, unable to climb out, yet unable to drive away. I need advice, or guidance, or something, but all I receive is sunlight, a shitty motel, and the stench of vanilla air freshener.
I end up calling Jax since he's the only other person in my life I talk to anymore besides Ch
arissa, but there's no way I'm telling her any of this.
"Hey," he answers after three rings. "What's wrong?"
I slump back in the seat and pick at a crack in the steering wheel. "Why would you automatically think something's wrong?"
"Because you've never called me while I was in school unless there's something wrong."