Wreck Me (Nova #4)(71)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

But I’m not even sure that I want to.

Chapter 31

The best birthday ever.

Avery

“You’re going to chop off your finger if you keep attacking the tomatoes like that,” Jax advises me for the tenth time. “Seriously, Avery, you need to put the knife down.”

We’re in the kitchen, preparing to barbeque kabobs. It’s nearing time for Nova, Quinton, and Tristan to show up, and I’m basically waiting around to get the text that’ll say they’re not coming. It wouldn’t be the first time I got blown off for my birthday, and the fact that Tristan didn’t say anything at the grocery store leads me to believe he’s not coming. I shouldn’t care—if I’d followed my own rules, I wouldn’t care. But I broke every promise I made to myself that day after the fire, and now I’m in the exact same place I was two and a half years ago—caught up in a guy and allowing him to affect my emotions.

“Okay, give me the knife.” Jax steps up beside me, pries my hand from the knife, then sets it down on the cutting board next to a demolished pile of chopped up tomatoes. “No more cooking for you.”

“Give me something else to do, then,” I beg as I wipe the tomato juice off my hands with a paper towel.

“No way.” He shoos me away. “Not only is it your birthday, but you’re a sucky cook. Besides, I hate help when it comes to food. I’m a one man show.”

“But I need to do something,” I complain as I back toward the kitchen sink. “Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.” I turn on the faucet to wash my hands then dry them off with a towel.

“You need to relax.” Jax walks over to the cupboard below the sink to grab the trash bin. “They’ll show up. I promise.”

“Who said I was worried about that?”

“Me and these tomatoes.” He nods his head at the mush of tomatoes on the cutting board. “You butchered your worry out on them.” He peels off a paper towel from the roll and cleans up the mess off the counter and into the trash. Then he puts the trash away and returns to the bag of tomatoes and the knife. “I know you’re nervous”—he selects a tomato—“but everything will be fine.”

“Easy for you to say.” I sink down onto one of the barstools around the island. “I wasn’t ready to introduce Mason to them.”

“You mean Tristan?” He peers over his shoulder with accusation. “You know we can handle you having your own life, right? I have my own.” He stares out the window at the backyard where Mason is running around on the grass, kicking a ball. “Even Mason has his own life, in his own five-year-old way.”

I rest my chin on my hand. “Since when do you have a life? I’ve never even seen you go out on dates.”

“What do you think I do when I’m not here?” he asks, picking up the knife. “I go out on dates all the time and hang out with people at school. What do you think I was doing last Sunday when I left for the entire day? I just don’t do it a lot, because I don’t have time.”

Because he’s always helping me.

“You were out with a girl on Sunday?” I ask, elevating my head and my brows. “You should have said something. I wouldn’t have bugged you to pick up milk and stuff.” I shake my head, upset. “Why didn’t you say anything when you’re always bugging me to be more open?”

“Because I knew you would react this way, and it’s not a big deal. And neither is me being out on a date.” He starts slicing the tomato. “I’m eighteen years old. I need to go out, or I’ll get sexually frustrated like you are, but that doesn’t mean I feel like I need to tell you about every date so you can flip out and think you’re burdening me by letting me help you.”

I snatch a nearby dishrag and chuck it at him. “First off, I know you should be going out. And second, if you’re seeing someone, then I think I should meet her, even if it’s just casual. It’s my job as your sister to make sure she’s good enough for you.”

“When it gets serious, then you can meet her, but I don’t want to bring anyone into our lives until I know she’s a keeper.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do for years. But now people are coming in, just like that.”

“Do me a favor. Give it a try and see how today goes. You might be surprised. I have my fingers crossed that this Tristan guy will sweep you off your feet, and you’ll live happily ever after so I don’t have to worry about you turning into an old shrew with fifteen cats.”

“Happily ever afters don’t exist.” I push up from the stool. “And I wouldn’t have cats. I’m a dog person.”

I retreat from the kitchen to get my cigarettes from my bedroom. It’s approaching five o’clock, which means, if they are coming, they will be pulling up soon. I decide to smoke while I make a trip to the mailbox, figuring multitasking means less time I’ll spend overanalyzing my life.

I regret the trip, though, as I puff on my cigarette and sift through nothing except bills. Water. Power. My tuition is also due. Not that it’s high because I qualify for grants, but a few hundred bucks equals a month dancing on the bar counter.

As I trudge back up the driveway, I frown at the envelopes in my hand. I really need to find a new, better job. Need to find Mason a daycare. Need to stop thinking about my dad and this Taylor girl who says she’s my sister. Need. Need. Need. So many things.

Pausing when I reach the pavement of the walkway, I take a moment to peer up at the clouds. “What are you trying to tell me with all this?” I ask the sky, even though the stars aren’t out. “With the bills. Conner. Taylor. Tristan… Is that why I ran into him today? Because I don’t know how that’s helping him. I’m a mess right now… The last thing he needs is a mess in his life.” Silence is my only response. “You know, I really should stop seeking answers from you. I would have if you wouldn’t have showed up when I died.”

As someone clears their throat from nearby, I look back down from the sky. My neighbor, Mrs. Felish, is standing at the fence line, staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. And I probably have.

I give her a small smile and a wave, then she tensely waves back before scurrying into her house and probably locking the door.

Great. Now the neighbors think I’m crazy.

Maybe I am.

Sighing, I linger near the driveway while finishing off my cigarette, stuck in my own head. I eventually take out my phone and stare at the call log of the last phone number that called me. Taylor hasn’t called me back, although why would she when I made it clear I don’t want to talk to her?