A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) (8 page)

There is no real home, real friends, real anyone who loves or cares about you. I don’t even have my mom anymore. She’s not the happy confident friend that I had in Santa Cruz.

And seeing this hell captured in three photos that somehow said it all, forced me to see everything I was trying so hard to ignore.

I’m stopped now, backpack thrown on the ground, hands on my knees, screaming at the top of my lungs with all the anger I’ve been keeping inside of me since the day I found out that my dad had cheated on my mom. “Fuuuuck,” I let out one last angry cry before sitting my ass on the ground and running my hands through my hair, wanting desperately to yank it out of my head.

When someone plops down on the ground in front of me it startles the crap out of me and I gasp. And then I see Nash’s serious face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m chasing after your crazy ass. What the hell is going on?”

He’s got his long, bent legs straddling mine and I feel trapped. Which I’m not. I could easily stand and walk away, but I don’t want to. He already knows every god damn thing anyway. Who cares if he just watched me screaming like a lunatic? He’s seen me acting like a lunatic before and he’s probably the one person in the world whose opinion of me matters not one bit.

“I just realized I’m never going home. Which means I don’t have a life. All the relationships I spent my entire life cultivating, all the nooks and crannies that I felt comfortable in, everything I knew about a family, everything I cared about, everything that was once mine… it’s all gone. Which means I have absolutely nothing.”

“Jesus, Presley. That’s some heavy shit. It’s because my photos were so good, right? They just made everything so transparent. Shit… I’m sorry about that.”

I want to take advantage of the positon I’m in and kick him in the balls, but I don’t because of the smile he’s giving me. No, I’m not falling for
his
smile – that stupid lopsided one that everyone thinks is so damn sexy. The smile he’s giving me is tentative – nervous and sad. And his eyes aren’t all sparkly, they’re dark and tumultuous.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But god, what kind of bullcrap was that – Mr. Conroy and Harley giving you props when I know you didn’t know what the hell you were doing.”

He laughs. “You might be right, I mean I don’t know how to work that damn camera and I spent an entire period in the computer lab just trying to figure out where the gray scale button was. I didn’t know what I was doing when I took those pictures. But I know when I see something that I want. And when I saw that look on your mom’s face I knew it was something I wanted to remember. And when I found that one little spot in that room that was yours I knew it was the only thing in the house I wanted to know more about. And you… that look on your face, the contentment that covered it… I knew that was the version of yourself I wanted you to remember… that I wanted you to see.”

I look away from him and smile at the dirt. “If I’m, once again, becoming a victim of your sweet talk I will seriously lose all of my self-respect.”

“I wish you’d stop saying shit like that, Presley. I know I have a reputation but trust me when I say that I’m not trying to smooth talk you. I tried it once and got a knee to the balls.”

I look at him now, my mouth agape, sounds of disbelief coming out of it. “No,” I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. That was not your version of sweet talking a woman.”

He shrugs his shoulders, and impish grin on his face. “You’d be surprised what most girls respond to. I mean, I pinned you against the wall which is usually a guaranteed panty dropper. And I told you how good you looked in your work uniform, right? I told you how hot your body is… which is usually all it takes.”

“You also told me I was a frigid bitch.”

“Most girls would have overlooked that part.”

“Apparently, most girls are desperate and have no self-esteem and you probably shouldn’t be taking advantage of those facts.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, I’m starting to realize that.”

“Are you?” I ask doubtfully, recent memories of my naked cousin coming to mind.

“Yes,” he says slowly with his eyebrows pinched together.

“You realize Jolee is desperate and lacking self-esteem?”

He cocks his head. “Well aware.”

I purse my lips and nod at him. “So this revelation… it’s a recent thing. I mean, it came to you since Sunday when you had sex with her last.”

His head retracts as he stares at me. And then he looks up at the sky like the light bulb has just turned on. “Did you come after me?”

“What?”

“After I left your room… did you come after me?”

“Well yeah, but…”

“To apologize,” he cuts me off, “for being judgmental and not trying to get to know me like you said you were gonna do.”

“Right, but then I saw you with Jolee two days after you told me you weren’t actually a slut.”

“And what,
exactly
, did you see?”

“You, with your hands on her naked body.”

“She wasn’t naked and if my hands were on her it was because I had to literally tear her off of me and then physically pick her up and move her out of my personal space. You didn’t stick around the entire two minutes I was there before I literally ran the hell away from her crazy ass.”

No. I didn’t. I tore down the stairs and out the backdoor.

“If I were to believe your little story I would have to believe that you had the power to resist her
mostly
naked body begging you to have sex with her.”

“And that’s impossible to fathom?”

“Everyone seems to think she’s the one girl you can’t stay away from. I mean, she is the girl you threw away your relationship with Tatum for. So, yeah, it’s a little hard to fathom.”

“Presley, seriously don’t. I know you don’t really believe that.” He stares at me until I nod at him. Truly, there’s no way in hell I could believe anyone, even Nash, would be stupid enough to give up Tatum for Jolee.

He aims his hard stare at me for a few more moments before continuing. “This is gonna make me sound like an even bigger asshole than you already think I am, but the reason she was my go-to when I wanted to get laid was because I didn’t care about her at all. In fact, I didn’t even like her. You, and everyone else, think I’m heartless but I can’t do that shit to just anyone. And I don’t know where the hell Angel finds these girls who are able to have sex with him and not get attached, but I haven’t come across one yet. I know this is going to be shocking to you, but I don’t really like hurting people. Hurting Jolee is slightly easier to take. And most of the time I’m not sure I’m hurting her at all. She gets over it pretty damn quickly.”

“True. I’m mean, I think you are her number one customer, but she’s got plenty of others.”

“So maybe she’s the one taking advantage of my desperation and low self-esteem?” he asks with one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know. I guess you’re both pretty pathetic.”

He shakes his head at me. “I know you’re going through some issues in that head of yours and my feelings shouldn’t really matter at this point, but can we take a minute to assess our relationship and how one sided it is?”

All I can do is laugh at him.
This should be good.
His persuasion skills are becoming highly fascinating.

“If I was a guy with no fingers, I could count the number of times you’ve said something nice to me on one hand. Your insults, on the other hand… I stopped keeping track of those a long time ago because I just can’t count that high.

“I know that, in a highly intoxicated state and in the middle of a personal breakdown, I called you some names. It was months ago and I’ve apologized for that. And, yeah, I just called you a bitch to Summer, but let’s face it Presley, when it comes to me, you are a bitch. But other than that I’ve done nothing but tell you how beautiful and entertaining I think you are.”

I know he’s right but how can I be nice to Nash? He deserves every mean thing I’ve said to him. “I think you’re leaving out some instances from our past, but I’ll let it slide. And the only reason I’m so hard on you is because everyone else seems to forget the asshole you’ve been and I think it’s important that you have someone in your life who is willing to remind you.”

“Because I don’t remind myself on a daily basis?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, Presley, I do. Everyone thinks Brandon and Tatum are so amazing because they tolerate me. And everyone looks at Summer like she’s Mother Theresa because she can tolerate them. But no one thinks that it might be hard for me to do the same thing. Which I get – she’s a sweetheart who never hurt them and I’m the asshole who kept them apart.

“But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me. Every time I see them together I’m reminded of the things I’ve done. Every time I look at Tatum I regret taking five years from her. Five years she could have spent in a healthy relationship being treated right. I hate that I didn’t treat her like she deserves to be treated. And I hate knowing that Brandon was a good friend to me; that he was always there for me and had my back. I always tried to deny it, but I knew… I knew that I was a shitty friend to him and that fucking hurts. I could have had something real, something good, with both of them but I didn’t because I was a selfish asshole. And I think about that every time I look at them. It hurts every damn time.”

I look at him; at the pain on his face and it’s almost impossible to convince myself that he’s being anything but sincere. “So you don’t need me to remind you?”

“No, I really don’t.”

I take a deep breath and settle back on my arms, thinking about the words running through my head and wondering if I should say them. “Do you want to start over? For real this time.”

“I don’t know. I mean, is it worth it?” His tone is serious and the idea that he’s done with my bullshit is suddenly a possibility. A possibility that, for whatever reason, I don’t want to accept. “Can you really forget about the things I’ve done? I mean, realistically, can you look at me and not see whatever kind of monster you think I am? Because honestly, all the crap you give me is kind of killing me and I don’t know how much more of it I can handle.”

My instinct is to roll my eyes and call his bluff – because,
like he really gives a shit what I think about him
. But the way he’s looking at me is causing me to doubt myself. “I’m serious, Nash. I would like to start over for real this time.”

“But even your tone just then…”

I throw my hands up in the air, my eyes fully rolling. “Oh my god, Nash. What the hell do you want from me? My tone? I have to check
my tone
? I’m willing to start over but I can’t start over as someone else. I mean, if you’re asking me to get a complete personality overhaul just to have the privilege of being your friend then maybe
I
don’t know if it’s
worth it.
”

He’s smiling hugely, his chest shaking with his deep laughter. “It’s totally worth it.”

I smile back at him, I can’t help it. “It better be.”

We stare at each other for a few awkward moments; Nash looking all intense, me looking all untrusting, I’m sure. He finally breaks the silence saying, “You weren’t planning on going back to school, right?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really.”

“Great.” He stands then picks me up with zero effort and has me on my feet. He grabs my backpack off the ground and says, “Let’s go.”

Since he has my bag I have no choice but to follow him. “Where do you think we’re going?”

“To my truck.”

I roll my eyes. “And then…?”

“I don’t know. Do you always have to have a plan?”

“No, not usually. But I don’t usually blindly follow people into their trucks when I don’t know where they’re planning on taking me,” I tell him, huffing it back down the trail, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“You don’t trust me,” he says, looking over his shoulder like the idea wounds him.

“Not explicitly.”

“I’m not trying to bring you anywhere. If you want, I can just bring you home.”

“You want to bring me home?” I ask horrified – that’s the last place I want to, or can, go.

“No. Of course I don’t want to take you home. But if you don’t want to come with me, I can.”

I’m fighting off my natural responses with every ounce of willpower I have. So instead of telling him
no, I don’t want to go with you, but what other choice do I have,
I tell him, “I would just like to know what you have in mind.”

His truck is in site now and he’s a good five yards ahead of me. So he doesn’t reply until we’re both in the cab looking at each other. “I’m starving and I’m broke so… my house? Frozen pizza?”

“Sure. Whatever,” I tell him, trying damn hard to be agreeable.

I’m relieved when, after eating our Tombstone directly off the cardboard circle because clean dishes are not available in the Carter house, Nash tells me he should work on his car and I should come along. I have my camera with me so I figure I should start working on his
home landscape
but when I aimed it at his trash-ridden house full of broken furniture he winced. And being the great friend I now am, I took mercy on him and didn’t take the photos.