Losing Track: A Living Heartwood Novel Page 9

  “Whoa…” I chase after her. I did not see this coming. “Melody, wait.” I head her off before she’s past my bike. “I wasn’t trying to offend you…or hell, I’m not rejecting you.” Wrong. Fucking. Word. Her eyes spear me. “It’s not you, it’s me—”

  “You got to be kidding me,” she cuts in. “Really?”

  “But it’s true, okay? I’m a fucking tool for how I did that back there. But”—I clamp my jaw hard, as if I can stop the flow of asinine shit leaving my mouth—“look. You weren’t wrong when you joked about me being straightedge. I’ve stopped…everything. For me, I had to. There was no other way to get sober. And that includes…” Hell.

  Her eyes grow wide. “You’re effin with me. No sex?”

  My jaw stays tense as I watch her try to reason through my confession. I need some damage control. Maybe some of the truth—only some—will be enough to repair her hurt ego. But what about mine?

  “Yeah,” I say, dropping my hands. “It’s been a long time for me.”

  “I don’t believe you. How long?”

  Suppressing the image of Hunter…of the last time I saw him…I think of Mandi—the last chick I nailed. It’s difficult to separate one from the other. I know the exact number of days since I last saw Hunter—those are forever etched on my soul, ticking away like a reverse doomsday clock—but I’ve tried not to think about Mandi, or any girl I banged back then, since…

  “Almost a year.”

  “Fuck me.” Melody covers her mouth and says through the slats of her fingers, “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. But, dude. Really? Why?”

  Having a hot girl look at you like you’re a freak for not having sex has got to be the worst kind of blow to the ego. This, right here, is the reason why I don’t do more than casual with women. My poor dick may never get hard again.

  “I just don’t. Can we leave it at that? I’d really rather not get into it here, half naked and shriveled.”

  Mel’s gaze darts to my crotch. Awesome. “Listen. I’m not mocking you. I have mad respect for you. I’m just curious. You’re how old? I mean, you’re not sexually confused or anything.” She picks her pants off the ground and pauses to look up at me with one leg in. “It’s not a bi-curious thing, right?”

  “What, no. I’m twenty-five and know for damn sure I’m all about the ladies. No offense to gay guys, but I’m just not gay. Nothing wrong with it—”

  “Get off your soapbox. There’s no media to impress here. I get it.”

  I reach for my jeans. After pulling them up over my hips, I say, “One thing at a time. Okay? One of my steps is making sure you can take care of yourself. That you’re healthy and shit, before you get into a relationship.” I shrug. “I take my own personal steps seriously. It’s what works for me. I’m not ready to…move on to the next step yet.”

  “But, sex has nothing to do with a relationship. I told you, I don’t want to marry you, dude. I’m sure within this past year you could’ve found a few girls who’d be able to fuck you without losing their hearts.” She gives me a teasing smile. “It’s a new century and all. And I know you’re downright charming, but not all women go Fatal Attraction on a guy.”

  Despite the awkwardness of this conversation, I laugh. I doubt I could have admitted this to any other woman—though I did try to spare her my humility. But Melody has a way to put me at ease and rile me up all at the same time. It’s an infuriating combination, but somehow balanced.

  “Like I said, it’s not about them or you or anyone. It’s about me.” I jerk my shirt over my head, the material only partially sticking to my mostly dry skin, thanks to the heat. “I’ll know when I’m ready. I just haven’t wanted to.”

  She smiles even wider. “Yeah. I could see that. I think your partner is disagreeing with you there.” She winks at my dick, and I can feel myself wilt even further.

  “Well, I think it’s a universal understanding that a guy’s member has a mind of its own.”

  “Member?” She fists her hands on her hips. “Who the hell are you?”

  Good question.

  As we walk to the bike, I put my hand out to her. “So, no awkwardness. Friends? I can count on you to leave my crumbling male ego intact for the remainder of your Stoney Creek stay?”

  She looks down at my outstretched hand, then up to my face. “The Boone Bimbos will hear nothing of this. Your good slash bad boy rep will live on. But, you do know what this means? If we’re going to be friends, more than affable—like, real friends and shit.”

  A spike of fear hits me, and I’m not sure if I made the right call. “Do I want to know?”

  Grasping my hand, she gives it a firm shake. “This means torture.” At my puzzled look, she continues, “You can’t tell a girl you’re celibate and have her not take that as a challenge, Boone. It’s like girl catnip. You might as well have said you were a virgin.”

  I can feel my face screw up even more. “Are you serious? That shit works?”

  She climbs onto the bike seat and laughs. I can feel the throaty roll of it in my stomach. I love her laugh. “Uh, yeah. We’re going to have fun. And hey? At least it gives me something to do for the next couple of weeks.”

  I suppress a smile and nod my head for her to move farther back before I step over the seat. “I should have just gone with gay.”

  Her arms slide around my waist. “Oh, dude. That would have been so much worse.”

  “Really?”

  “You have been out of the game for a while. The gay best friend? Shit. A girl’s true challenge is turning the hot gay guy.”

  “Bullshit,” I say and crank the engine. I can feel Melody laughing against me.

  As I pull out onto the highway, I’m slightly relieved, and slightly in fear for my life. I managed to put the smile back on her face, save any hurt feelings from being rejected. Which may salvage any future chance I may have with her, maybe.

  But I probably just put a hurt on myself that I won’t survive.

  Melody

  Of glass and ice

  I REALLY KNOW HOW to pick ‘em.

  One glimpse of dude’s ripped abs and bulging package, and I’m tossing my convictions out the window. But at least I’m honest. Hell, what girl could catch site of a hot guy totally hard for her and simply walk away? Too much temptation to have some fun with that one.

  It’s better this way, though. I admit, in all honesty, when Boone put on the brakes, I did get pissy. For a split second the rejection stung. But today, I’m relieved. It’s one less complicated mess in my long list of complications that I have to deal with.

  I like him. Not a shit ton, because of the whole holy-roller, anti-drug thing. But I like effin with him. He has a wild side buried in there, and I’m a good judge of character. I think there’s a whole personality hidden somewhere below, too.

  And while I’m stuck at Stoney, it would be fun to have a project to keep my mind busy. To keep me from going crazy. Helping Boone break out of his cocoon seems like as good as any.

  These lame thoughts swirl my head as I make my way to Doc Sid’s office. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be reprimanded for leaving Stoney yesterday. Nurse Bridge caught me coming in through the fence and took me straight to the ward to be tested for alcohol and drugs.

  When she concluded I was sober, she sent me to my room for the rest of the night. Just like a pissed off parent. I actually thought she was going to make me pack my bags, kick me out. For a brief moment, I feared I wouldn’t complete the program and I’d be stuck in Florida forever.

  I’m still here, though. For now.

  Doc Sid’s door is open, and he waves me inside before I can take a seat on the waiting bench. “Shut the door behind you, please,” he says.

  All right. I do as requested and seat myself in the chair across from him. His office is bare. No pictures or paintings. No signs of life outside of this place. There’s a couple of plaques indicating he’s qualified for his job, but otherwise, it’s a pretty depressing, sterile room.<
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  This is my fourth time seeing him. I go twice a week, so by my bad math, I’ll have eight meetings with him before I’m released. Just how the state or judge figures I’ll get any help with eight meetings boggles the mind. I think it’s all a money conspiracy. The more people they send to treatment, the more they get paid. Some kind of government pyramid scheme.

  Had I been convicted in just about any other state, I’d have been sent off with a slap on the wrist. Maybe a suspended license. Fucking Florida.

  “So Nurse Bridge tells me you had your first outing.” He looks up from the open file on his desk. Over his circular spectacles. I wait for him to elaborate, for him to actually present a question to be answered, but he just sits there. All judgy.

  I shrug. “Yup. I went out into the world for a whole corrupting two hours.”

  No smile. “How was it?”

  I cross my ankles. Make my face blank. “I went swimming.”

  “With Boone.” He says it as a statement, not a question. There’s some kind of underlying criticism there. Maybe only the women of Stoney are Boone Randall fangirls.

  “Yup,” I say again, nodding my head slowly. “He has a bike.” I’m five years old, telling my dad about the cool kid next door with the awesome toy. It’s so demeaning.

  “Ah,” he says. “Yes, he does. And how was it? Being on a bike again?”

  Really? Is this guy serious? “It was good. I had fun. Is there a point—?”

  “Since your best friend lost her life on one, I thought maybe there would be some hesitancy for you.” His beady eyes drill through his lenses at me. “A moment of panic, maybe.”

  My whole body locks up. Well, there wasn’t until you said something, asshat. Shitty counselors and their shitty tactics. I glimpse an image of me ripping his little gray eyes out before I say, “Nope. It’s just like riding a bike. You don’t forget how.” I smile. It’s so forced I can almost hear my teeth cracking under the pressure.

  But at least he didn’t say her name. No one gets to say her name. They don’t know a damn thing about her. Most people didn’t give a shit about my girl. They don’t get to use her death as a way to get something from me.

  “And she didn’t die because of a bike,” I add. “A truck crashed into her and the road smashed her head in. It wasn’t her or the bike’s or Jessie’s fault.” My hands clench into fists. “It was the drunk asshole driving the truck that hit them’s fault.”

  His brows pinch together, a curious look forms on his face. “You don’t—” He breaks off, looks down at the file, and I have a fleeting second of satisfaction that I tripped him up. He finds what he’s searching for and meets my gaze again. “You don’t think Jesse’s drug use had anything to do with the accident?”

  A sharp razor is slicing my brain. Bottled-up judgments are leaking out of the cuts. Anger rises in my chest, fiery hot, but I get ahold of it before it’s unleashed. I know what he’s trying to do. I know the game, and I won’t play.

  I press my back into the chair and push my fisted hands to my sides. “His blood alcohol level was below the legal limit. I know Jesse. He can operate a hell of a lot more fucked up than he was that night.”

  “I didn’t say anything about his alcohol level.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “I said his drug use. Shouldn’t you consider Jesse’s actions, or lack of reflexes, his choices that night, as part of the outcome, Melody?”

  “What the hell?” I lean forward. “You’re my shrink, right? Shouldn’t you be preaching to me about acceptance and forgiveness and all that shit? Coming to terms with things in order to move on? Why are you fixated on me blaming one friend for another’s death? That’s really messed up. We all partied. We all got high, had drinks, had a good time. We all took off knowing…” I grit my teeth, glare at his smug face. “Dar was my responsibility. If anyone’s to blame for what happened to her, it’s me.”

  The words fly out of my mouth so quickly I don’t hear them until they’re out there, floating in the gap between me and Doc Sid. Drifting back to my ears. Pounding against my head.

  Dar has always been under my wing. Since that moment in the Jr. High bathroom when I stepped in to protect her, she’s been my obligation. I let her ride with Jesse. I should’ve just put her drunk ass in the car. I shouldn’t have fucked Jesse and got all weirded out and wanted to bolt out of there. Just a minute later…just a second…and that truck never would have hit them.

  “Melody?” His voice bleeds into my thoughts, and I blink. “I know this is going to come off as nonsense. You’ve heard it a million times on after school specials.” He smiles, like he’s relating to me. Like he’s getting down on my level. Douchebag.

  “But,” he continues. “We are the company we keep. You’ve heard that before?”

  I nod absently, no longer paying attention to his words. They’re drivel leaking into my ears.

  “You’re a committed friend. You’d do anything to protect the ones you care about. I get that, I do.” He takes a breath, getting ready for the but… “But, are they protecting you back? You’re not here for long, so if you get nothing else out of this treatment, I want you to leave with this: take a good, hard look at your friends, and ask yourself if they’re going to help you get to where you need to be, or hold you back.”

  He sighs when I say nothing. “Your choices are your own. You’re responsible for your actions. But it’s just as important to acknowledge the actions of those around you, Melody. You want me to assuage your guilt, tell you that it was nobody’s fault, when the truth is: every action has a reaction. There were a chain of events that dominoed and led to your friend’s death.” He flips the file closed. “All right. I think that’s enough for today.”

  Yeah, he doesn’t have to tell me twice. Without any parting words, I stand and head for the door. A rock in my stomach. A hot lump lodged in my throat. Choking back the words I want to rail at him.

  As I exit the counselors’ wing, and make my way toward the rooms, a sudden nausea consumes me. All I can see is Dar’s face: the smeared makeup; the knots tangling her hair; her drunk, happy smile; blowing a kiss; her vacant, lifeless eyes.

  Then Jesse’s body moving on top of mine. Saying “no” and him driving into me…

  I wobble on my feet. My hand reaches out to anchor me against the wall, gain balance. I have to get this shit out of my head. I don’t want to think about that night, or Jesse, or Dar, or any of it. It was just a horrible, fucked up night.

  Actions.

  We all played a part, my mind is whispering to me. Only is anyone more to blame?

  When I finally get to my room, all I want to do is crash. Just fall face first into the lumpy mattress and sleep a thousand years.

  But a single envelope stops me short at the foot of the bed.

  A breath catches in my chest as I read the return name: Jesse.

  Boone

  A heightened awareness, a pit free of reason

  THE LAST PLACE I want to see is the facility in front of me now.

  After Hunter’s death, I loathed it. Hated every waking second of being barred behind its walls. Then, slowly, it became my salvation. A hideaway. A sanctuary. The outside world and its temptations couldn’t reach me here.

  My last day at Stoney, I made a commitment to The Routine. One evening a week would keep me from slipping. A promise to Hunter wasn’t enough; I had to prove I wouldn’t fuck up again. So I cut off connections. Not only with friends, but with every person I came into contact with.

  Why the hell did I let Melody penetrate my refuge? Now, staring at Stoney, all I see is her, wandering the halls, with her pissed off scowl, cute little ass, and pink bandana.

  And the way she looked at me yesterday. Like I was some sort of freak.

  Over the past year, I’ve been in some tense situations…but not many as painfully pleasurable as yesterday. Just about all my willpower was tested—and I almost gave in. One more second of her stroking me…looking at me with that wanting gaze…fuck.

&nbs
p; I’m still torturing myself.

  It took a lot to calm the hell down after I dropped her off, and I’m just firing myself back up. Shit, I’m still lying to myself. I’ve been wound tight ever since she first batted her long eyelashes at me.

  I decide to stop standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking like a creeped out psycho, and start toward the front double doors. Hands stuffed into pockets, my eyes squinted in the blinding sun. What used to give me a sense of peace, a haven, now stirs a combination of unease and anticipation inside me. My neck and shoulders are tense as I push through the door. I’m not sure if I’m dreading seeing Mel or excited.

  I bypass the counselors’ hallway and head straight for Nurse Bridge. To see if there’s any maintenance hours I can pick up for my proactive community service. Nothing can get me to go back to Doctor Carly’s office. Last time was enough. Despite my momentary lapse with Miata Guy, I’ve been doing well with my anger. Or I was, until she started her interrogation into Hunter.

  If yesterday wasn’t proof enough that I’m doing fine on my own, then I don’t know how else to prove it. If I was ever going to run off and get stoned, yesterday would have been that day. But I didn’t. Did I think about it? Yeah. I didn’t, though.

  Jacquie will just have to accept the community service and forget the therapy meetings. If it’s not good enough, fuck it. I’ll do my time. I’d rather sit in a six-by-six cell and make friends with the local cons than sit with that doctor picking holes at my brain for one more minute.

  “Boone, I didn’t know you’d be back today.” Nurse Bridge, right on time. Saving me from my own defeating thoughts.

  “Yeah, hey, Nurse Bridge. Denise said I might be able to help out around here some more. If you need me.” Sink my hands down farther in my pockets. Stare past her head, not into her eyes.

  It doesn’t work; she’s a sharp one. Her face pinches, the worry line between her eyebrows deepens. “Is there something going on?”