Wreck Me (Nova #4)(12)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“Who said anything about having feelings for her?” Nova asks and Quinton, who no longer able to hold it in, busts up laughing.

“Oh, shut up.” I gently shove him and he trips over his shoelaces, continuing to laugh.

“And so what if you hardly know her? You two seemed to hit it off really well and sometimes that says a lot.” She glances at Quinton when she says it, which I don’t get because the two of them didn’t hit it off right away. It took them forever and it was a messy, ugly, and brutal journey that I kind of drifted through with them.

“Just because I hit it off with someone, doesn’t mean I want to do anything about it.” The sun peaks in the sky and starts to beam down on us so I pull my sunglasses over my eyes. “People go in and out of my life all the time.”

“Yeah, but sometimes people come into your life and stay there,” she presses, probably referring to how I’ve managed to stay in her life for a few years. Then she threads her fingers through Quinton’s. In response, he grips onto her hand tightly. “And I don’t care what you want to do. I’m going to see Avery.” Her grin expands and then she spins on her heels, leaving me to drift back to my thoughts.

Regardless of what Nova thinks, I won’t ever have what her and Quinton have, no matter how much I secretly wish I could. It just isn’t in the cards for me.  After years and years of being alone, rejected, and used, I’ve come to the realization that I’m just not that kind of person—the kind someone wants long term. I’ve come to terms with that and am fine with it.

That’s what I have to remind myself when we walk up to the worksite ten minutes later and Avery is standing in front of the foundation, talking to Wilson, the foreman. I barely get a glimpse of her and it’s only a side view, but it’s still enough for me to recollect how attractive she is, way more attractive than the women I’m used to hooking up with.

Her brown hair with a purple streak in the front is pulled up into a ponytail, and the diamond above her full lips reflects in the sunlight.  Tight jeans hug her legs and that ass… that ass is hot. Her skin is covered with ink, on the back of her thigh, her arm, her neck. Even now I find myself wishing to see every detail of her tattoos. Her lips are ridiculously soft too, which I know from the one kiss we shared. One amazing kiss that marked my lips, like the scar, the good kind, connected to a good memory.

Avery saw me that night.

But it can never be more.

Can it?

The fact that I ask myself the last question means I should keep my distance from Avery. No guy rule. She has a no guy rule. And you already got too attached. Do you want to relive the whole Nova thing again?

Instead of walking over to Avery and saying hi like I desperately want to, I duck around to the back area of the foundation.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

If only that were true.

Chapter 5

Burnt eggs equal a bad sign for the day.

Avery

The lyrics to one of my favorite rock songs wake me from my deep slumber. As I come out of dreamland, for a brief instant, I swear I’m going to wake up in my old bedroom, surrounded by patched walls and a leaky ceiling. But the memory fades as I blink the sleepiness from my eyes and reach for my phone that’s on my nightstand.

A number I don’t recognize flashes across the screen as the ringtone continues to play. I’d guess it has something to do with my mother, since we’ve been waiting around to hear a phone call that the police found her dead or alive, but the area code is unrecognizable. I hesitate before answering.

“Hello?” I ask tiredly as I sit up in my bed and stretch my free arm above my head.

The sound of breathing fills the line and a cold shiver slithers through my body. Conner.  I remember the threat the guy made last night. It has to be Conner. I have no idea where he’s calling from. Nor do I care as long as it’s far, far away from here.

“Conner if that’s you, you’re not supposed to be calling me,” I say edgily. “The restraining order says so.”

The caller catches their breath and then the line goes dead.

Sighing with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I end the call and set my phone down. I knew this was probably coming since he got out of jail recently—the harassing phone calls and then eventually he’ll start trying to meet up with me in person. That’s what he does, refusing to let me go even though he hated when he had me.

Frustrated, I haul my butt out of bed and wander into the kitchen to cook breakfast. Cracking eggs and mixing pancake batter busies me enough that I don’t obsess too much about the phone call. Eventually Mason, my five-year-old son, comes wandering in, dressed for school, courtesy of Jax’s help I’m sure. I help him get seated with crayons and a coloring book while I finish cooking. But my cooking skills have never been stellar.

“Fucking shit that hurts!” I jerk my hand away from the scalding pan and it slams to the floor. Eggs splatter across the tile floor and smoke fills the air as the fire alarms sirens off. For a moment, I just stare at the mess, wondering if it’s a sign of how bad this day is going to go.

“Mommy said fucking shit!” Mason cries out as he scribbles in his coloring book.

I don’t have time to scold him as the pain from the burn hits my finger. I turn off the oven, dash to the kitchen sink, and flip the cold water on. Then I shove my finger under and breathe in relief as the cold water soothes my soon-to-be blistered skin.

“Mason, you shouldn’t say those words,” Jax shouts over the sirens of the fire detectors as he enters the kitchen. He takes one look at the smoke in the air, the burnt eggs and pan on the floor, and his eyes widen. “What the hel… heck were you trying to do exactly?”

I shut the water off, open a window to let the smoke out, then coddle my finger in my other hand. “I was cooking breakfast.” I grit my teeth as the fire alarms still go off. I can’t stand the sound of them, just like I can’t stand the stench of the smoke in the air. It reminds me too much of that day. The day that I don’t like to think about, but can never allow myself to stop thinking about it.

“I thought we made an agreement after the burger fiasco of last summer that you wouldn’t cook anymore,” Jax says, ruffling Mason’s hair as he glances down at the coloring book. “Good job, buddy. You’re really staying in the lines.”

I frown at the eggs spilled around my bare feet and attempt to ignore the throbbing headache I’m getting. “I was trying to do something nice for you for your first day of school.”