Trouble from the Start (14 page)

“You should have asked Katie out last summer,” I said quietly.

Marc groaned. “God, did I look that moony-eyed last year? Did everyone know?”

“My dad taught me to pay attention. When we'd go to the grocery store he'd grill me afterward. What did the lady at the checkout look like? Describe the woman on the ice cream aisle. It was kinda fun.” I waited a heartbeat, then asked, “So why didn't you?”

“Was afraid she'd say no.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Guys have very fragile egos.”

I laughed. “Not the ones I know.”

“Maybe you're not as observant as you think.”

I lay back and stared at the stars. Because there were so few lights out here, it was like looking at a velvet blanket
covered in stardust. “Maybe she's not serious about him.”

He hunched forward, elbows on his thighs. “She is.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Guess you and I could date.”

“Wow, with an offer like that, how could I say no?” I asked.

He groaned. “See, that's why I didn't ask her out. I'm not smooth.”

“You don't have to be smooth. You just have to be honest.”

“Okay, then. I'd like to go out with you sometime.”

“And now I have to be honest. I think we're better as friends.”

“Guys hate the f-word. You know that, right?”

“But
friend
is such a good word. It's a good thing.”

“Only a girl would say that.”

Sitting up, I tucked my legs beneath me. “I think you still like Katie.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So we could go out as friends. The whole honesty thing—it won't be a date.”

“Fair enough.”

The silence eased in around us.

“So that Joffrey's a prick,” I finally said.

Marc laughed. “Yeah, he is.”

“Have you read the books?”

“Last summer when I should have been asking Katie out.”

“You know, you can date and read. One doesn't preclude the other,” I chastised. Then we started comparing books made into movies, what worked, what didn't, and what we liked about each format. The time seemed to speed by.

As I became aware of a rumbling, I looked over my shoulder. “Think that's my ride.”

“Your mom drives a motorcycle?”

He sounded so impressed that I hated to disappoint him. “No, it's a friend.”

“Oh? Must be a good friend to come out this time of night.” He nudged my arm playfully. “A really good friend.”

I slid off the hood. “He's staying with us.”

“I'm intrigued.”

“It's no big deal.” But I thought if the sun was out that he might see me blushing.

“Don't make my mistake,” he said. “Don't be so afraid of rejection that you don't take a chance.”

Is that what I was doing? Was I so afraid Fletcher would reject me that I was tamping down any feelings I might have for him?

Fletcher brought his bike to a halt, turned it off, and I could sense him sizing Marc up. Marc doing the same. Honestly, guys could be so juvenile sometimes.

“This is Marc. He works with me,” I said. “This is Fletcher.”

They each nodded, said nothing.

“So are you going to help me with the car?” I asked Fletcher.

“Yeah, pop the trunk. Your mom said you had some tools.”

“Think you'll need a jump?” Marc asked. “I can stay.”

“Might. Appreciate it.” Fletcher got a flashlight out of the trunk, popped the hood, and shone the light over the engine. “Try to start it.”

I did and got the same results as earlier. He fiddled with something, told me to give it another go. Trooper refused to cooperate.

“Okay,” he said. “We'll call for a tow truck.”

“What about what Marc suggested?” I asked. “A jump.”

“It's not your battery and it's too dark for me to get a good look so I can try to fix whatever it is.” He turned to Marc. “You don't need to wait.”

Marc looked at me. “You sure?”

“I'm sure. Thanks for hanging around.”

He took off, while Fletcher called the towing service. After he closed the hood, I popped back onto it to wait. Fletcher stood nearby, sweeping the light from the flashlight over the dunes and weeds, like he was searching for something.

“So who's the guy?” he finally asked.

“I told you. Marc. We work together.”

“Do you like him?”

“Sure. He's a nice guy. He realized tonight that he should have asked Katie—a girl we work with—out last summer because now she has a boyfriend, someone she met at college.”

He stopped sweeping the flashlight around and sat on the hood. “You know you could have answered that with a yes or a no.”

“Unlike you, I'm not a person of few words. And if I answered yes, you might not have understood that we're just friends.” For some reason it was important to me that he completely understand that.

“That's good,” he said. “You shouldn't date people you work with. Things don't work out, makes it awkward.”

“Like you've had experience with that?” I asked.

“I hear things. So how was work?”

“You mean other than the fact that Trooper let me down when I needed her the most? Tiring. My feet hurt. There was one customer—” I growled. “I wanted to charge him a pain-in-the-butt fee. He didn't even leave a tip. Jerk.”

Fletcher chuckled. “A pain-in-the-butt fee?”

I looked over at him. I liked the way his smile looked in the moonlight. “Yeah. It should be the law for anyone who
has to deal with customers, that based upon their behavior you can charge them additional fees. You just wait until you're dealing with customers at the auto shop.”

“I've worked. I know what people are like.”

Shifting around, I tucked a foot beneath my leg. Why had I assumed he wouldn't have the gumption to get a job until my dad helped him find one? Why was I never willing to give him credit? “Where did you work?”

He hesitated. Why wouldn't he share anything? “Wait, let me guess. A male strip club.”

“That would be interesting,” he said.

“To say the least. So really, where did you work?”

“Jake's Tattoos and Piercings.”

“The one that went out of business, the one next to the drugstore downtown?” The only one in town, so I wasn't sure why I was asking for clarification. Our town was not known as a hotbed for either tattoos or body piercings.

“Yep, not a lot of people needing tattoos around here. Jake said he was going to Vegas. Don't know if he did.”

“Why didn't you go with him?”

“Didn't like doing it, having to get way too close to people.”

“I guess you do know about crummy customers.”

“Absolutely.”

“Think you'll like working at Smiley's?”

“Yeah. Cars are way more interesting than people.”

“I don't know that I'd go that far.”

“At least cars don't express their disappointment in you.”

I banged my fist on the hood. “But they can disappoint you.”

“Don't be so hard on the old girl. She must be close to half a century old.”

“Not that old,” I assured him. “Dad wanted me to have a tank in case I got involved in an accident. Higher chance of survival. I have to admit I was a little insulted that he expected me to have a wreck.”

“He probably has complete faith in you. It's the other guy he doesn't trust. Besides, at least he cares.”

I wondered if he thought his dad didn't. It was late and I was tired, and here we were with time to kill. “So your dad doesn't mind you living with us?”

“I didn't ask him.” He shoved himself off the hood. “Here's the tow truck.”

Only then did I hear the rattling and rumbling. I didn't know why those trucks always sounded ominous, as though they needed a tow as badly as the car they were coming to retrieve.

We made arrangements for the tow truck driver to haul it to Smiley's. He'd just leave it there, locked. I rode home with Fletcher. This was getting to be such a common thing that I was contemplating buying my own helmet.

With the wind rushing past us, we couldn't really talk, although I wasn't certain that we ever really did. Each time I thought a bond was developing, he'd step back. Sometimes I thought he liked me, and other times, I felt like he wanted to charge me a pain-in-the-butt fee.

He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine. I got off the bike and handed him the helmet.

“Sorry you had to be bothered to come to my rescue,” I said.

“Avery . . .”

His voice held remorse, a fact I almost missed because I was so stunned that he'd actually called me by name. It hit me like a hardball to the solar plexus. I couldn't recall him ever saying my name before. His deep rough timbre had woven around the syllables as effectively as it had around my heart.

“Did you think I wouldn't find you, boy?”

I jerked my head around to see a large guy stumbling out of the shadows at the side of the garage.

“Go into the house, Avery,” Fletcher said as he shoved himself off the bike and took a few steps away from it, a few steps toward the rangy, gray-haired man.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Just go insi—”

Head lowered, the man charged. His shoulder rammed Fletcher in the chest and they both went down.

Fletcher threw him off, scrambled back to his feet, and held his arms out. “Dad, don't.”

This was his dad?

With arms and fists flailing, the man came at him again. Fletcher warded off the blows. Then he shoved his father back. The man tottered. He'd barely regained his balance before he charged again and took his son down.

“Mom!” I screamed as I ran to the side of the house. “Call Dad! Call Dad!”

I grabbed the hose, turned on the spigot, and rushed back. Turning the nozzle to full blast, I squeezed the trigger. A powerful stream jetted out, and hit Fletcher's dad in the face. He yelled, scrambled back. I kept the water aimed at his eyes.

Mom tore out of the house, carrying a baseball bat. “Your dad's on his way.”

She rushed over to me, dropped the bat, and wrapped her hands around mine. “I've got it.”

While she kept the spray going, I knelt beside Fletcher. “Are you okay?”

He held up a hand, looked away. Stupid question. Of course he wasn't. He was bleeding, breathing harshly. Drenched.

I heard tires screeching to a halt. I glanced over my shoulder. Dad leaped out of his car and rushed past Mom.

“You can turn it off now, Mary,” he said.

The water fizzled out. Dad turned Mr. Thomas over, handcuffed him.

Hatred burned in the man's eyes as he looked over at Fletcher. “You pressed charges against me!” he growled.

Fletcher shoved himself to his feet. “You didn't give me a choice.”

“You're worthless, you know that?” he snarled. “Always have been.”

“Shut up,” Dad ordered as he heaved the guy to his feet, gave him a hard shake, and started dragging him to the car. “I'm taking him in. Mary, get Fletcher to the hospital. Have him checked over.”

“I'm fine,” Fletcher said.

After Dad shoved the guy into the back of the car, he walked back over and gave Fletcher a hard stare. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll add these charges and the violation of his restraining order to the previous ones, but he'll probably still make bail again. Sorry the wheels of justice turn so slowly.”

“At least he didn't have a gun this time.” Anger simmered in Fletcher's voice.

My stomach dropped to the ground.

“Thanks,” Fletcher said, nodding at Mom and me before he turned and headed up the stairs to his apartment.

In shock, I stared after him. “His dad threatened him with a gun?” I whispered.

“Yeah, he's father of the year,” Dad said.

No wonder Dad and Fletcher had been tight-lipped about why he was here. I couldn't imagine it, the horror of it.

“Can't you talk to the DA?” Mom asked. “Keep him locked up?”

“I'll do what I can,” Dad said. He gave her a small smile. “Good idea to use the hose.”

“That was Avery.”

Dad hugged me. “I'm torn between being proud of you and telling you if it happens again to run into the house.”

“Fletcher told me to, but I just couldn't.”

He tucked me beneath the chin. “Yeah, I know. But he won't be bothering you any more tonight.”

Dad kissed Mom before heading to the car. As he drove off, Mom put her arm around me and led me into the house. I could barely think; everything I'd seen, heard, and witnessed was spinning around in my head. But I did know one thing: Fletcher wasn't all right.

I went into the bathroom and gathered up a few things before heading back out. I considered just opening the door, but Fletcher had experienced enough intrusions tonight, so I knocked. I was actually surprised when he opened the door.

He sighed. “Look, it's been a long night . . .”

“I know, but you're bleeding.” I held up the box. “I brought some stuff.”

Sighing again, he opened the door farther. I walked in, set the box on the low table in front of the couch. I grabbed a bowl I'd brought, then went into the bathroom and filled it with warm water. Mom was a nurse. She'd be better at this, but she'd taught me how to take care of minor injuries so Tyler would be left in capable hands when she was at work.

When I walked back into the living area, Fletcher was sitting on the couch, his feet on the table, the TV turned to some movie that had sharks flying through the air. I sat beside him, took a washcloth from the box, dipped it into the water, and gently wiped at the corner of his mouth, where there was a thin trail of blood. His jaw was tight, his eyes focused on the screen.