Trouble From the Start Read online

  “You don’t need to tend to me.”

  “I want to.” She took a tube out of her little box, squeezed some clear gel onto the tip of her little finger, and dabbed it at the corner of my mouth, then above my eye, and finally on the bridge of my nose. After wiping her hand on the washcloth, she removed a bandage from the box, tore off the wrapper—

  I snatched her wrist. “You are not putting Spider-Man on me.”

  She smiled and the force of it shot straight to my gut.

  “Come on,” she said. “It makes ouchies go away.”

  “You really should leave,” I told her, before I did something we were both going to regret.

  “I’m not going, not until you talk to me. You can’t keep all this in.”

  “Talking is not what I want to do, and if you don’t go—”

  “You don’t scare me, Fletcher. And you can trust me.”

  “That’s the problem. You can’t trust me.”

  I slid my hand around the back of her head and brought her in for a kiss. I ignored the pain from my busted lip. I wanted to frighten her away. I wanted her to realize I wasn’t good for her. I wanted her to know that I was dangerous, that I didn’t care about her, that I only cared about me.

  Instead, she crawled onto my lap, straddled my legs, took my head in both her hands, and kissed me back.

  And I was a goner.

  She tasted so good, like key lime pie. She combed her fingers through my hair, stroked her hands over my shoulders. I thought nothing in my life had ever felt so good.

  I rolled her over until she was stretched out on the couch and we were pressed together. I loved how tall she was. She fit perfectly against me. I could never get enough of this, never get enough of her. There was comfort in her touch, gentleness, eagerness. She wanted the kiss, wanted it as much as I did.

  She scared the hell out of me. The way she cared, the way she smiled, the way she made me laugh. I’d never wanted to kiss a girl as much as I wanted to kiss her. I hadn’t liked seeing her sitting on the car with Marc. Jealousy had sliced through me. I’d never experienced jealousy before. I knew I had no right to be jealous now.

  She belonged with someone like Marc. Someone who didn’t come with a lot of garbage. She wanted honesty and openness. I’d survived by keeping so much hidden for so long. Embarrassment over the way my old man was. Shame at the thought that maybe I deserved the words and fists he flung at me.

  But Avery caring, touching me, wanting me—

  It was almost too much, too overwhelming. Yet she was an anchor. So sure of herself.

  Breaking the kiss, I lifted my head and gazed into her blue eyes. No pity, no sympathy. I wouldn’t have been able to stomach either one. I’d always hated the way people who knew the source of my bruises looked at me as though I couldn’t take care of myself.

  “You don’t have to hide from me,” she said.

  I pressed my forehead to hers. “He only hits when he gets drunk.”

  Her arms tightened around me. “Is that why you drink root beer?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be like him.”

  “You’re not like him. You’re nothing like him.”

  Her voice held such conviction. I could almost believe her. Swallowing, I rose back up and met her gaze. “You don’t know me.”

  “But I want to.”

  “I don’t fit in your world.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll just hurt you. I can’t be what you want.”

  “Don’t assume you know what I want.” She placed her palm against my cheek. “You don’t really know me either, Fletcher. Maybe there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. But what I do know, I like.”

  I tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. I swallowed hard. “I like you, too.”

  “We can start with that.” She brushed my hair back from my brow. It felt so good to have her fingers going through my hair. “Right now, though, I need to go. Mom knows I came over. She’s going to come check up on us at any moment.”

  “See, I’m the kinda guy a mom checks up on.”

  She laughed. “All guys are the kind a mom checks up on.”

  I really liked her laugh. The ease of it.

  Reluctantly, I rolled off her. Sitting up, she skimmed her fingers over my face. “I won’t tell anyone about the other guy or who he is. Not even Kendall. It’s our secret.”

  She brushed her lips over mine before hopping off the couch and heading for the door.

  “Avery.”

  She stopped, turned. The word lodged in my throat. I’d been on my own for a long time.

  “Thanks,” I forced out.

  “Put on the bandage. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

  She walked out, closing the door quietly behind her. I looked at Spider-Man, figured what the hell, lifted my T-shirt and placed the adhesive bandage over my heart.

  Just so it could remind me that I didn’t want to hurt hers.

  Chapter 22

  AVERY

  I’d made it down three steps before I had to sit. My knees were weak, everywhere seemed weak. I pressed my fingertips to my swollen lips. Fletcher’s kiss had been nothing at all like the one I’d experienced in band camp. His had started out hungry, rough, and then it had gentled, become slow and thorough as though he was savoring it, savoring me. I’d been so aware of him, but also aware of his pain, his anguish. That his father—

  “Avery?”

  I looked up to see Mom standing at the foot of the stairs. “You okay, honey?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, pushing myself to my feet and descending as quietly as possible the rest of the way.

  “How’s Fletcher?” Mom asked when I reached her.

  I looked back over my shoulder at the door. “I think he’s okay, or as okay as he can be. Busted lip. He’s going to have some more bruises tomorrow.”

  “I should have taken that bat to his father.” She slipped her arm around my shoulders, and we began walking to the house. “How are you doing?”

  “Still shaken, I think. I don’t understand people hurting each other.”

  She opened the gate. “I know. I don’t know if anyone does.”

  We went through the backyard and climbed the steps to the deck.

  “He said his dad had a gun last time. Do you know what happened?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. Let’s have some tea. It’ll help you sleep.”

  Chamomile tea was my mom’s answer to everything. Or maybe she just needed the time to get her thoughts together as she put on a kettle and brewed the tea. She poured the tea into delicate china cups with black roses on them that she had inherited from my grandmother. She arranged a few shortcakes on a plate and set it between us. For comfort.

  “Over the years, your dad’s been called out to a couple of disturbances at the Thomas place. The first time Fletcher was just twelve. His dad claimed they were just roughhousing. Fletcher wouldn’t say.

  “Then about a week ago, someone called in that they heard shots fired. When the officers got there, Mr. Thomas said the gun had gone off accidentally when he was cleaning it. But the officers had heard shouting when they arrived. Fletcher had bruises forming. When the officer took him aside to speak with him, he said he’d only talk to your dad. So they called your dad out.”

  She took a sip of tea, looked around the immaculate kitchen. “Fletcher was pretty shaken. His father had threatened him with the gun. Your dad talked him into filing charges, and convinced him to come stay with us. Thought he’d be safe here. Then tonight happened.”

  “What happens now?” I asked, horrified that all this had gone down and I hadn’t known. No one at school had known. But then if that were my life, I wouldn’t tell people either.

  “He’ll probably get out on bail, but I’m sure your dad will have a talk with him before that happens.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “No. He’s a mean bully. He’s not going to hurt us. But you