Wreck Me (Nova #4)(49)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“And if he breaks the door down first, then what?” He wrenches his hand from my hold. “You have to buy a new door. Pay for more because of his shit.”

I hug my arms around myself, trembling. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” he says. “Remember Lester?”

I tense at the mention of my fifth step-father’s name. I wasn’t living in the house when my mother married him, but I heard a lot about him later when Jax came to live with me because of what Lester did to him. Well that amongst a long list of things.

“He beat me with a belt every day for three months,” Jax reminds me, “until the day I turned fifteen and decided it was enough and hit him back.”

“It’s didn’t stop him though, just caused more fights. And I don’t want to bring a Lester into your life.” I push him in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll handle Conner. You go check on Mason.”

Jax dodges around me and pushes in the same direction I just shoved him in. “You go check on Mason, and I’ll wait here.”

“Jax, I don’t—”

“Avery,” he warns, “if he breaks that door down, the bat’s going to be the first thing that greets him, and I’m going to be the one swinging it.”

I squeeze my eyes and take a suffocating deep breath before lifting my eyelids open. “Promise me you won’t open that door. Just stand here.”

He grinds his teeth. “Fine, I promise.”

I know Jax well enough that I don’t believe he would lie to me, so I hurry down the hallway to the last door on the left. A trail of light flows out of the crack from the lamp Mason always has to have on whenever he’s asleep. As I peek inside, my body goes dead cold and I push the door open the rest of the way.

“Mommy, what is that?” Mason asks, clutching onto his favorite teddy bear, his eyes huge and crammed with fear. “I keep hearing loud banging sounds just like at our old house.”

Another clap of thunder roars through the house, and I find myself wanting to curl up in bed and cry with the rain. Just cry and cry and cry until it stops.

“It’s just one of the neighbors.” I cross Mason’s room and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Sorry it woke you up.”

“He’s being super noisy and sounds like a crazy man,” Mason says drowsily with a yawn. “Can’t you tell him to be quieter?”

“Jax is talking to him right now.” I smoothe my hand over his head. “Give him a few minutes and I’m sure it’ll get quiet.”

Mason nods as he hugs his bear. “He kind of sounds like Daddy.”

My body goes rigid. “That’s weird. I don’t know why.” It’s probably one of the worst omissions of truth I’ve ever done, but there’s no way I can let him know that the crazy man outside is his father. He’ll want to see him and then he’ll really see him, in his true, enraged form. And I promised the night I survived the fire that Mason would never, ever see that side of his father again. Even if it means keeping Conner out of his life forever.

“Do you want me to play you a song to help you fall asleep?” I ask.

Mason nods excitedly, like he does whenever I offer to play. Unlike Jax and me, Mason doesn’t associate his mother and music with awful memories and he loves listening to it.

“I’ll be right back.” I kiss the top of his head then hurry to my bedroom.

I can still hear the banging as I collect my guitar from my closet, which is a relief because it at least means Conner hasn’t gotten inside nor has Jax opened the door. With my guitar in hand, I return to Mason’s room. He’s sitting up in his bed, waiting eagerly for me.

“You have to lie down,” I tell him. “Otherwise you won’t be able to fall asleep silly and it’ll completely defeat the purpose of playing at all.”

“I can fall asleep sitting up.” He smiles at me. “Please, Mama. I can hear it better when I’m sitting.”

I don’t really understand his five-year-old logic but what I do understand is that right now his father is outside trying to break the door down. So I let him remain sitting up as I sink down onto the bed and position the guitar in my lap.

“Which one do you want to hear?” I ask, gently grazing my thumb across the strings.

“Play me the quiet song,” he says happily, all smiles and sunshine through the rain.

I nod then begin to play, singing only when I spot the blue and red lights flashing outside the window. Then I sing my heart out, drowning out the world around us.

Drowning out the pain for him.

Two years and nine months earlier…

Chapter 21

I think my soul has given up.

Avery

Tears drench my eyes and cheeks as I clutch the nearly empty bottle against my chest and rock back and forth. He’s going to be home soon and things are going to get ugly. I could tell by the anger in his tone. I should leave the house, go somewhere, but it’s two in the morning and I have no car, no friends, no nothing. If Mason wasn’t sleeping in the next room, I’d get up and just walk outside.

I’d walk.

And walk.

Never stopping.

Until I found an end.

But I can’t leave Mason. I just prayed to God that he can sleep through the fight, that he won’t wake up. Being a heavy sleeper, he usually sleeps through it, which is a gift, I guess.

I almost laugh at my thoughts, but it’s not funny. None of this is. The shithole that I live in. The zero dollars we have to our names. The empty cupboards. The screaming. The hitting. The beating down. I think my soul is starting to give up. Either that or the alcohol has numbed it.

I decide to go outside and smoke until Conner gets back. Then maybe the fight will take place outdoors and no one will hear it.

But me.

Chugging the last drops of tequila, I set the bottle down, grab my worn jacket and cigarettes from the mattress on the floor, and head out of the house. The air is chilly and nips at my skin as the wind surrounds me. I slip my jacket on and zip it up before lighting up a cigarette. Then I stare out at the darkness that borders the single wide I’ve called home for three months.

Over the last few years, Conner and I have packed up and moved more times than I can count, mainly because we get so behind on rent that relocating is our only option. This place is the bottom of the barrel, though. The only thing around is a graveyard of tires, trees, and the sky. I don’t look up at it, resenting the stars, resenting everything. Instead, I focus on the highway in the distance, a thin strip of road where headlights move toward our home. Conner is almost here.