Wreck Me (Nova #4)(48)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“Yes, boss.” I salute him and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to go do one of my assignments. If you want to talk about being weird more, you know where to find me.”

I nod, but when I do get up from the sofa it’s only to go into my room and change into my pajamas. It starts to rain by the time I climb under the covers and settle in bed with my laptop, preparing to do some homework. Raindrops splatter against the window as thunder booms from outside. It reminds me of the many houses I lived in that had leaky ceilings. Every time it would storm, the water would drip inside. It makes it tough to relax and I almost get out of bed to go to the kitchen and read the note on the cupboard. But the idea seems less comforting with what’s going on with Tristan and me.

What is going on with and me and Tristan? We’re friends. Friends that flirt? Is that what we are?  Or is he more than that? My penitence? But what am I even saving him from?

“Why the heck can’t I stop thinking about this?" I shake my head at myself, fluff the pillow, and rotate to my side.

Whatever we are, it’s messing with my head in both a good and bad way.

***

When I fall asleep, I plummet into a nightmare filled with bright orange flames. I’m in the fire again with Tristan and he’s holding out his hand to me. His blue eyes look shadowy as smoke and flames blaze around us, melting the walls, the floor, the ceiling—everything—away.

Help me, he silently pleads.

I want to help him. Badly. But I’m not sure how.

How do I help you?

Please tell me?

Someone please explain.

This time I get as far as reaching for him and our fingers connect before we’re engulfed in flames.

I wake up soaked in sweat, weighted down, and the heaviness only increases when I realize the real reason I was startled awake is because someone is banging on the front door. I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s past midnight, way too late for anyone to be stopping by for a casual visit.

My first thought is something’s wrong, maybe there’s something happening in the neighborhood, which would explain why a dog is having barking fits.

I stumble out of bed and pad through the hallway into the living room. Rain drizzles against the windows and pitter-patters against the roof. The house is silent, and I start to wonder if I imagined the banging, but then comes another knock. I jump back, startled. That’s when I notice the shadow of a figure through the frosted glass on the upper section of the front door.

I remain frozen through three more knocks, freaked out, and hoping whoever it is will go away. But by the seventh knock I arrive at the conclusion that’s not happening and I start across the living room, debating whether to turn the light on.

I’m halfway to the front door when I hear it.

Or him anyway.

“Avery, open the door. I know you’re in there.”

The sound of Conner’s voice suffocates the oxygen from of my lungs. Every one of my hairs stands on end as I stop dead in my tracks and gape in horror at the door.

“Avery, I know you’re home!” he shouts over the rainstorm. “Your Jeep’s in the driveway.”

I can’t find my voice or the strength to move my feet, and my lungs won’t function properly. There’s only a door keeping him away from me, and I’ve seen Conner break down a lot of doors. What if he breaks it down? What if he gets inside? What will he do?

“I just want to talk to you,” he says softly. “And maybe Mason.”

The mention of our son snaps me out of my trance.

I stride toward the door. “It’s late, Conner. Mason’s in bed. But even if he was awake, you wouldn’t get to talk to him.”

He pauses, pressing his face up against the glass. “He’s my son, too, Avery.”

Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes, illuminating the living room. My heart matches the boom, my pulse pounding as my hands begin to tremble. I tell myself it’s from the storm, but I’m lying to myself.

“Only by blood.” I grip the doorknob, not because I’m going to open the door, but because my knees are getting wobbly and I’m worried that I’ll collapse. “He doesn’t even know you.”

“Because you won’t let me fucking see him,” he growls, his palms flattening against the glass, causing me to flinch back.  “You’re such a fucking cunt, Avery. God dammit!”

I recoil every time his voice goes up a notch and my heart rate quickens, the same reaction I’ve always had to his yelling. I instantly feel weak because I haven’t been able to overcome my fear of him yet.

“You weren’t even around when we lived with you, Conner.”

“And who the fucks fault was that?” he snaps. “You’re such an unstable mom and a dirty little slut. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. Screwing around with that guy that was stupid enough to get in my way.”

Frustration barrels through me. And fear. And cowardice. All the things I felt every day I was married to Conner, at least toward the end.

“It was your fault, you asshole! You have no right to be watching what I do!” I wince at the loudness of my voice and quickly lower my tone. “Now go away before I call the cops.”

“Fuck you! You dirty little cunt! You’re still the same!” He slams his hands against the glass and I worry he’s going to break it. Just like I worry that he might be high or drunk. Sober he’s an asshole. Drunk he’s a violent asshole that has no control over his temper. “I don’t give a shit about the damn cops! Call them! I. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. About. ANYTHING!”

“Fine, I will call them.” I start to turn to go get my phone from my bedroom.

“I already did,” Jax says from behind me.

I whirl around the rest of the way, my eyes sliding to the baseball bat in Jax’s hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“What I have to do.” He steps toward the door, gripping the bat. “Leave asshole,” he says, speaking loudly and firm.

The slamming on the glass ceases. “Who the fuck is that?” Conner growls furiously.

When neither of us responds, he begins pounding his fist against the glass. The entire house shakes. The neighbor’s dog barks. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes. I fear Mason is going to wake up from all the noise.

Jax takes another step toward the door, ready for a fight. “I’m going to beat his stupid ass.”

“You aren’t going out there,” I hiss, clutching onto his arm. “Just wait until the police show up.”