Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) (10 page)

Despite the extra adornments, Blaine was the epitome of class. He didn’t even flinch at Toby’s bruised face or question me about who they were. He had a way of making everyone around him feel welcomed and accepted. I really hated how much I couldn’t hate the guy. But there was no way he could have known that Toby didn’t talk. And the protector in me wanted to save him from any undue embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” I snapped before I realized how completely out of line I must’ve sounded. “I mean, it’s great. Thanks, B. Um, Kam around?”

Blaine shook off my rudeness and answered with a shake of his head. “Appointment. Should be back soon.”

Ah. So Kami really was seeing Dr. Cole regularly. It obviously wasn’t an OB appointment. No way Blaine was missing one of those.

After Blaine had returned to his station behind the bar, and I had returned to my lunch—feeling like a jackass—I looked up to find that Raven was staring at me. Not with contempt or disgust, but just . . . staring.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “It’s my Cheers, I guess.” Goddamn, that made me sound lonely as hell.

“That guy . . . before . . . he called you Dirty. Why?”

“Uh, nickname. Long story.” Not a long story, actually. But I wasn’t about to tell her that I had acquired it in high school, along with my reputation for being a young Hugh Hefner. Girls just seemed to flock to me. It wasn’t my fault, honest.

“And who’s Kam?” Damn. First she doesn’t want to talk to me, and now it’s 20 questions? Ok. If she wanted to play, I’d play too.

“Best friend.”

“
You
actually have friends?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

That question seemed to give her pause, as if she had to think about it long and hard. What person had to think about whether or not they had friends? Shit, between me, Angel and Kami, we were more nuts than Almond Joy, and we still managed to find each other in this big, wide, crazy world.

She shook her head and diverted those magnetic eyes to her food that had been left to grow cold. “I have a job and school. I don’t have time for friends.”

I wanted to say that was bullshit, but I settled for, “The world is a scary place. Especially when you have to brave it alone.”

She looked at me then, dropping the poker face and allowing me see her hand, if only for a moment. “I’m not alone. I have my brother.”

I saw her courage and raised her some honesty. “Yeah, I know that. But who has you?”

W
HO HAS ME?

Shit. I didn’t even know how to answer that question.

Truth be told, no one did, and no one had for a very long time. And I not only preferred it that way, I had designed my isolation specifically to keep nosy ass people like Dominic Trevino from delving into my life. Yet and still, he managed to find me. Four billion people in this damn world, and
he
found
me.

Coming back to Charlotte was a mistake. This wasn’t my home anymore, and if it hadn’t been for Toby, I would have never returned to the one place that served as the gravesite for every one of my demons. You don’t return to the scene of the crime. You run from that shit. You run and you never turn back.

I glanced over at my kid brother, who was pretending to be overly interested in his food. I knew he was listening to every word, probably even siding with this arrogant prick across the table. I could tell he actually liked the guy, which threw a monkey wrench in my quest to completely ice him out. Shit. It wasn’t like I could just remove Toby from Helping Hands after our caseworker “suggested” the program. But that didn’t mean I had to deal with the guy. Yet, somehow, here we were. Having lunch like one big, happy, fucking family. The manwhore, the mute and the misanthrope. It was like a bad sitcom on the CW.

Honestly, I didn’t want to hate him, or anyone else for that matter. I hated playing the role of the bitch; I was tired of shutting out the world. And a long time ago, I was a starry-eyed, naive and optimistic young woman with her whole life ahead of her.

But that all changed in one night. One night that served as the first tumbling domino in a long line of tragedies that completely shattered our world. And the guy that sat across from me, gazing at me with heavy lashed, hazel eyes swirled with green, he was the nudge that tipped that domino, sending our fate into motion.

He just didn’t remember it.

Of course he didn’t. Fucking narcissistic sluts rarely did keep tally of the lives they’d ruined.

I hated the way he looked at me. I hated that he was so nice to us, and so good with Toby. I wanted to believe he was an evil, despicable person down to his core. Because if he was in fact devoid of all redeeming qualities, it’d make it easier to see past the gorgeous exterior. It’d ensure that I wouldn’t feel fucking butterflies flapping around in my gut whenever he was near. Dammit.

The first night I saw him again—sitting at that table at The Pink Kitty, those hooded eyes sliding over glitter-dusted skin and teased hair extensions—I told myself I could do this. I could play it cool long enough to get close to him, play to his wanton desires, and when I had him right where I needed him, I’d do to him what he did to me.

I’d fucking end him.

That was before one very important variable changed all that. Toby.

I wouldn’t let him get hurt in all this. He had already been through enough. Selectively mute children needed support and understanding. And after the hell he’d witnessed, he needed stability. He didn’t need another crazy ass broad turning his already ravaged life upside down. I was all he had. Hell, he was all
I
had. And I had to do right by him or I could lose him for good.

“Well?” Dominic urged, the intensity in his stare turning my insides into goo. I hate that he had that hold over me. I felt possessed by him, the demon wriggling its way inside my soul and stealing my resistance.

I couldn’t say a word in response to his question. I couldn’t tell him that I lay awake almost every night, staring at the cracks embedded in the ceiling of my tiny, shoebox apartment until I felt as if it were closing in. Caging me in my own denial and regret, and making me a prisoner of consequence.

So no. No one had me. I was alone, just as he had left me.

“Hey kid, you just about done there?” I turned to ask Toby. He had polished off his burger and most of his fries, as well as two rounds of sweet tea. I didn’t even give him a chance to nod or shrug or whatever. I stuffed a hand into my purse, slapped down a twenty and slid out of the booth. “Come on, Toby. Time to go.”

He looked disappointed, but he wiped his face and hands and got up anyway. I felt like an asshole, but I couldn’t let this . . . this poser . . . continue to pretend to care for one second longer. People like him were incapable of feeling for anyone outside of themselves, no matter how many charity cases they took on.

“Hey, wait up!” I heard Dominic call out once we got outside and were trekking to the car across the lot. I didn’t want to do this here, but he just wasn’t getting the message. Leave. Us. Alone.

“Why don’t you get a good station warmed up for us,” I grinned tightly down at Toby, handing him the keys. That was our thing—channel surfing in the car. There weren’t many ways for us to communicate, so we did it through music. And since my car was old school, yet legendary, so were the music stations.

The moment he was safely in the passenger seat and occupied with his task, I turned my gaze on Dominic, who was trying to hand back the twenty dollar bill. My face was so tight with rage that it hurt, and my hands were shaking as angry adrenaline pumped through my veins.

“Listen here, jackass. I don’t know what your angle is here or why you seem so invested in “helping” us,” I spat, demonstrating the air-quotes with my trembling fingers. “But you can drop the act now. I know what the fuck you’re about, and it’s downright sick that you’re walking around here like a fraud . . . like you actually care about Toby. We don’t want your fucking help, you understand me? And we damn sure don’t want your friendship. So you can take your fancy suits, and your flashy ass car, and the fake smiles, and shove them up your ass. We’re fine.”

I should have left it at that—I had definitely gotten my point across. But emotion had taken hold, and I couldn’t stop the ugly truth from tumbling out, taking with it my fears and insecurities. “You don’t know shit about us—you have no idea what it’s like. You get to go home everyday to a plush, cushy life with some false sense of satisfaction, feeling like you’ve done good by the poor, mute kid and his sister. Fuck that, and fuck your charity. Save it for someone who cares.”

He looked shocked . . . hurt . . . like I had just zapped him with a taser. Maybe even a bit humiliated that I had pulled his number and called him out on his bullshit. But that look of horror only stayed frozen on his face for a split second before the veil dropped, shielding any weakness that may have been exposed. Because the only thing those enigmatic features displayed after that was fury, rage, and pure disgust.

He opened his mouth to reply, but quickly turned on his heel, mumbling, “Fuck it,” as he swiftly strode to his car. But the very second I exhaled, releasing all the frustration . . . the hurt . . . he was right back in front of me, close enough to give me a start, yet far enough not to seem threatening.

“What the fuck do you know about my life?” he spat, his voice so low and menacing that it was only for my ears. “You don’t know shit about what I go home to. So no . . .
fuck you.
Fuck you for making snap judgments about shit you have no goddamn clue about. You want to be so selfish to deny that boy the care that he needs? Because you have some personal vendetta against me that I don’t even know about? Fine. I’m done. But before you ruin that kid’s life with your hatred, think long and hard about what you’re doing. You wanna shut out the world and be a bitch, go right on ahead. But don’t drag Toby down into your misery. He deserves better than that.”

With that, he whipped around and didn’t stop until he was inside his car and peeling out of the lot, tires screeching, leaving me with my twenty dollar bill at my feet.

He’d heard me. He’d heard the years of pain and anger in my voice, and it had worked. Dominic Trevino would officially be out of my life. Again.