Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

She took another spoonful. “Okay, fine, all of my teenage years were bad. And before that, so was my childhood.” She looked thoughtful. “I always told myself it wasn’t bad, because I wasn’t abused or anything. But do you know why I wasn’t abused? Because I got into scary situations all alone early in life, and I lucked my way out of them. By thirteen I knew how to spot a creepy guy or a bad situation. Those aren’t things a thirteen-year-old should know.”

“They aren’t,” I said.

“My father left when I was six,” Tessa said. “His entire method of parenting was ‘everyone should do their own thing.’ Which is stupid when you’re dealing with a little kid. But of course, when he left and picked up with another girl, he got to say it was because he was doing his own thing. My mom went on to other boyfriends after him. You know how some single parents really worry about dating, about how the person they’re seeing will affect their kid? That wasn’t her.”

“Jesus,” I said. “Terrible things could have happened to you.”

“I know. A few of her boyfriends were creepy, but none of them lasted very long. I figured out how not to be alone with any of them, ever—even the nice ones. Because you never knew. As you may have gathered, I don’t trust people.” She glanced at me. “Am I talking too much?”

“Tessa,” I said, “literally the only thing I want to fucking do right now is listen to you talk.”

She lowered her bowl and spoon for a second. “Sometimes you say the nicest things,” she said. “I don’t even think you know you do it.”

“Just keep talking, okay?”

She paused, then nodded. “I went off the rails as a teenager,” she said. “I was the textbook definition of running with the wrong crowd. I hung out with people who partied and did all kinds of drugs. I tried all of them sooner or later. I blacked out more times than I could count. I lost my virginity in the backseat of a smelly truck to a guy who was twenty-five. I was so drunk I only half remember it. I had no curfew, and my mother never asked when I was going to be home. I thought I didn’t matter. I hated myself.”

My hands were clenched in the sheets, my heart pounding. I may be a mess now, but my teenage years had been fucking great. Sure, our parents pretty much ignored Nick and me, but otherwise we were rich, good-looking guys who liked to have fun. I’d lost my virginity to my first girlfriend; we’d planned it for weeks. We were sober, and we tried to make it great for both of us. We both failed, but that was nobody’s fault.

Before the accident, my life had been so, so fucking good. I had that.

“What happened?” I managed to ask.

Tessa shrugged. She stirred the ice cream in her bowl. “I got drunk and high more and more. I realized it was because I never wanted to be inside my own head, just me and my thoughts. I was spiraling. The people I hung out with weren’t really my friends; the guys I slept with barely knew my name. My mother didn’t care. I started to fixate on the idea that if I disappeared, it wouldn’t matter. That people would be better off. And it sounded really good.”

I closed my eyes for a second. I knew that feeling. But I stayed quiet and let her talk.

“Part of me, though, got scared,” Tessa said. “Part of me didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t feel in control. So one night when I was seventeen I went to the emergency room of the closest hospital and told them I needed help or I was going to kill myself. I saw one doctor, then another. They recommended I spend some time in a rehab center. They tried to call my mother because I was a minor, but she was at a yoga retreat in Costa Rica and couldn’t be reached. They let me go in anyway.”

“Did it help?” I asked.

She nodded. “I was in for three weeks. It was mostly group therapy, and of course there were no drugs or alcohol. If we had more money, I could have gone somewhere nicer. But at least I learned that I wasn’t alone, that there were people like me out there who were getting help. That the drugs and alcohol weren’t helping. That if other people could get through it, then maybe I could, too.” She took the last, melted bite, her mood seeming to cheer up again. “When I left, I packed my bags and moved to L.A. I got away from those people, from the girl I was. I got jobs and made my own money, and I tried to make something of myself as a model. I didn’t really succeed, but at least I tried. And then my grandmother died. And here I am.”

Something clicked. “What you went through—that’s part of why you want to be a nurse.”

“Yes, it is.” She put her empty bowl on the bedside table. “It’s stupid, right? Thinking you might be able to help someone someday, the way you were helped. I shou

ld be more cynical.”

“It isn’t stupid,” I said. It was fucking amazing. She was fucking amazing. Tough and smart and indestructible.

She looked at me. Her hair was still messed from the sex we’d had, and she was wearing my shirt. If there was ever a better sight in the universe, I’d never seen it. “So now you know about me,” she said. “Which of us wins the screwed-up Olympics?”

“Still me,” I said. “Definitely me.”

“Okay, you’re probably right. But do I win anything for second place?”

I thought about it. “You win complimentary access to my air conditioning and my kitchen. And the undeniable pleasure of my company.”

Tessa sighed. “Those big words.” She came forward on all fours and moved closer to me. “I like your company.”

I could smell her—sex, shampoo, woman. I cupped the back of her head when she got close and kissed her, me sitting up, her on all fours. It got hot, fast. She tasted so incredibly good.

“Why me?” I asked her when we finally broke the kiss. “Of all the guys. Why me?”

“Some things are just fate,” Tessa said. “Don’t you think?”

I couldn’t answer, because she kissed me again. I could taste ice cream on her tongue.