Boone
I take my sunglasses off as I survey the building Jason and I just toured with the realtor. It's red-bricked, has an apartment on the second floor I could use, and it's in the business district—down the street from the gas station Carter works at. The realtor took a chance on this one, knowing we'd like the price but not necessarily the inside. The place is outdated, considering it's been empty for about ten years and was built back when the town was founded. Of all things, it was a hardware store, which I think is fate or something kickstarting our asses. I even like the idea of making the place into a hardware store someday as an extra option for revenue. If we're already buying parts, why not buy in bulk? In the long run, that's cheaper.
"So, what are you thinkin', man? Is this Fell & Grant Company's HQ or what?" I ask Jason.
He's been keeping his thoughts to himself. I don't blame him; he's got the most to lose. Me, I don't have anything. The only thing I've ever owned is the keys to our trailer. Ironic, considering I'm the town repairman, and I haven't repaired the ripped screen door, forgoing the need for keys. It's a big jump going from owning nothing to having a store.
Jason clucks his tongue then looks back at his van as if his wife and kids were there with all the answers. "I'd better talk to Alex about it before sinking our money into it, but I'd like to go for it."
"Me, too," I agree. "It's a nice price. Outdated, yeah, but it's something we can deal with. Not like we need much."
"The location's good, too," he adds.
We tick off a few more bullet points we like about the place, as well as what could use some work. By the end of it, Jason seems on board, and I think he has enough to present to his wife to get her on board, as well.
Off in the distance, sirens start to blare. We take it as a sign to walk back to our cars. I've got just enough time to drive home, ditch my car, and then go for a run before I see Carter. Hopefully, she'll actually want to see me this time, not just ignore me.
"I've been telling all my clients about the company, and they're all into it—happy for me. There are a few who weren't okay with the slight price increase, but most of ’em are the ones who don't pay anyway," I explain.
"That's good to hear. I've talked to mine, and it's been the same thing."
I grin, glancing back at the brick building, which will hopefully be ours soon. This building is seriously going to be life-changing for me. It's going to set me up for a future, get me out of the damn trailer park, and put me on a path completely unlike my dad's. I never thought I was going to amount to much—but now … who knows? This must be what hope feels like.
"Looks like someone's having a bad day," Jason says as not one, but two cop cars speed down the twenty-miles-per-hour street.
My gaze follows them. "Probably heading to the park." You can't say it's a new day unless at least one cop has visited the trailer park.
"Sad they didn't stop and let you hitch a ride."
If there's one thing I can honestly say about myself with pride, it's that I've never, ever been in the back of a cop car or on the wrong side of the law. Sure, that probably means I'm too sneaky for my own good when I do bad shit, but it also means I don't have a record.
The car doesn't keep going as I expect. Instead, it swerves to a stop, nearly landing on the sidewalk.
Right in front of the gas station.
"Carter."
I barely manage to get her name out before I'm running. I'm in the best clothes I've got—khakis and a polo—and brown "dress" shoes I brought at a yard sale. None of it's good for doing anything fast or panicked, such as running as hard and as fast as I can. I hear someone else running, too. Probably Jason. I don't look to see.
I pass the cop cars, both empty. Their sirens are off, but the lights are on. That's got to mean something good, right? If it were serious, they'd have everything on, letting the world know something's happening. Plus, there'd be more than just police cruisers—there'd be an ambulance if people are hurt. If Carter's hurt.
My stomach broils at the thought. She's got to be okay. This can't be anything. I can't lose her in the process of trying to get her back.
I grope blindly at the door handle and yank it open. My vision is focused on getting to the cashier's counter—seeing she's okay.
I immediately run into a female cop who's shorter than me but built like a wall. "We ask that you stay outside until we're done here," she says, all formal. She looks sort of familiar, as most people in this town are, but I don't care to place her.
"Is Carter here?" I demand, which is probably a stupid question because it's not like they've been here any longer than I have. "Carter Hart?"
"Sir," she warns.
"Carter!" I yell, trying to look around her. I can see the other cop's back, but nothing beyond that.
"Hey, man," Jason says.
His hand falls on my shoulder, and I shrug it off. I yell her name again, a concoction of terror, exhaustion, doom, and misery washing over me.
The other cop takes a step to the side, to check what's going on, and I see her. All the air leaves my system. She's pale and obviously shaken, but she looks okay. Safe. My relief is short-lived when I realize something bad had to have happened if the cops were called.
"He's okay," she says quietly. "He was here … before."
The female cop nods to Jason. "And him?"
"He'll keep me quiet," I mutter, stepping around her.
"I'm obviously very good at it," Jason says.
The closer I get to Carter, the more frantic I feel. She doesn't just look shaken—she looks out of sorts and lost. Her normally expressive eyes are completely blank and shut down, her eyebrows stiff. There's a slight cut along the underside of her jaw, red and bleeding, that I didn't notice from far away but is all I can see now.
"What the hell happened here?" I demand, immediately moving to make my way behind the counter. Being close to her is the reassurance I need to make sure she's okay.
She flinches, automatically raising her hand to the side of her head. Her hair is a mess, falling out of her ponytail and down over her shoulders. Her lips start to tremble as if she were about to lose it.
"Carter, you're okay," I say, trying my best to soften my voice, even though all I really want to do is pulverize the whole damn place. "It's okay."
She shakes her head, looking from me, to Jason, to the officer, and back to me. Her hands are listlessly at her sides, squeezing shut and opening. She's not okay. Shit. What happened?
The officer clears his throat. "There was a man who came in here a few weeks ago—a junkie. Ms. Hart tells us you saw him, as well. Can you give us a description of him?"
I can't clean up the mess happening in my mind right now, but a clear picture of that junkie forms in my head. I made sure to memorize the jackass so if I ever saw him on the streets again, I could tell him a thing or two about how to treat a woman. Particularly, Carter.
"Thin, about my height, had a gray beard, bald with liver spots on his head, and enough track marks to pinpoint cities on a map," I recite. I don't miss the hint of recognition in the officer's eyes. I haven't seen the junkie before, which is weird because this is such a small town, but he's somebody. Maybe an out-of-towner who's caused enough issues to get on the cops' radar.
"That matches Ms. Hart's description," the officer—Taft, by his name nameplate—says.
" Why’re you asking me this? What happened? Did he come back?" I look to Carter and, without being answered, I know he did. She looks like she did the day he first came in and freaked her out, only this time he roughed her up. "Carter, talk to me?"
"He-he …" She looks down at the ground. "He thinks I have money for him, and he was here to take it." She raises her hand back to her head—this time, her face contorting. "He grabbed me, and I slammed my head." My gaze drops to a cardboard display of candies, which is tilted over and spilled out. There's a red smattering on the thinner slat, and I'd take a guess that the edge caused her cut.
"Goddamn it," I mutter, sick to my stomach. I wish I'd been here to keep her safe. I wish someone had—anyone.
"You fought back," the officer tells her soothingly, like he's trying to reassure her. He looks at Jason and me. "She maced him, he ran, and she called 911."
"You maced him?" I ask, smiling despite myself. "You did good, Carter."
She smiles back weakly, but it doesn't quite reach anywhere else. I approach her slowly since she's so jumpy. This time she goes still but doesn't move away. Before I can think twice about it, or she can, I slip my hand down into hers. I lean into her and ask quietly, so neither of the officers or Jason can hear, "He didn't do anything else, right?"
She shakes her head.
I let out a long, relieved sigh. I must've been holding that in my whole life based on the size of it. I squeeze her hand and look at the officer. "Do you think you'll be able to find him?"
"We'll do our best to," the officer says. Most people might take his guarded expression as being honest, but I can sense a but to it. I've dealt with enough cops, thanks to my dad, to know when there's something more to be said.
"Good," I say, slow and steady. "Is she done here?"
"Yes, for now," he answers. "We've got contact information if we need to know more."
I look to Carter. "Is anyone coming to get you?"
She shakes her head. "I didn't get to call anybody."
"All right. Then how about I take you home?"
"Kara and Gabe …"
"Will understand," I finish. I look to Jason, who's been slowly creeping closer. He's a good guy who cares about everyone. "Think you can take her out to my car?"
"Sure," he says.
"Aren't you coming?" Carter asks.
"Yeah," I say. "I just want to tell him some other things I remember about the guy."
An eyebrow raises as if she doesn't believe me, but she doesn't say anything about it. She'll either save it for later, or maybe it just doesn't matter. My wanting to talk more to the cops is nothing compared to what just happened. She probably faced enough reality for one day.
Jason follows closely behind her out the door, and I'm thankful for it. She obviously can take care of herself, but I'm happy he's there for an extra hand.
When I hear the bell ding, signaling they're gone, I turn back to Officer Taft.
"You don't expect to find him, do you?"
The female officer, Officer Lockson, walks up beside him, and they exchange glances. "Getting him won't be a problem," she says, "but keeping him might."
"They've got a camera, so there'll be footage of what happened," Taft explains. "But assault charges like these usually only end up with probation. If it does end in an arrest, it'll only be for a year."
"Shit," I mutter. I run a hand over my chin. This is why vigilantes are so popular. "And chances are, if this guy thinks she's got the money, he got the idea from somewhere, and there'll be more with the same goal."
"Let's hope that's not the case," Lockson says. "It's a good thing she's obviously feisty on her feet."
"Yeah," I agree, feeling pride wash all over me again. "She's somethin' damn special."
They both look unimpressed and as though they’d be ready to get a move on with things. They explain they're going to wait around for the owner to get there, and I thank them for taking the 911 call then go out to Carter. I need reassurance she's there, safe, and okay. This scared me out of my ever-loving mind.
I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to her.
#
Boone, 18
Declan, 18
"You broke her heart, you know," Declan says out of nowhere.
I grimace and drop down to the ground, leaning my back against the wall of a giant fountain, which Declan's currently in. He asked me to go out tonight and help him "work." I should've known better. Declan's never worked a goddamn day in his entire life. What he really means is he wants to go around and scrounge up some cash.
We used to make fun of Tish for her desperate ways of making quick cash, and here he is doing the same thing. He's crossed over from the cheap stuff to the drugs that are an expensive lifestyle. I don't know why I didn't choose to see that until now. I don't know why I'm not stopping him, either.
The dude's going around and stealing people's wishes, and I'm letting him. We're the lowest of the low.
He's got his tattered jeans rolled up to his scrawny knees, slipping all the change he can find into a plastic bag he stole from a garbage can. I've got no doubt he could probably be a millionaire if he did this every day. Crazy, the amount of people who throw silver dollars away.
Every time he picks a coin out, I try to imagine what it's in there for. A wish for true love. A wish for a sick family member to get better. A wish for a promotion. A wish their significant other won't find out about the cheating.
"Can we not talk about this again?" I groan.
"Hey, you're not the one with the sister who's moping around like she's a puppy that just got kicked. Hell yes we're gonna talk about this and keep at it. You shouldn't have kissed her." This is the most sober I've seen him in years, which is probably why he's chomping at the bit to make some cash.
"You think I don't regret doing it?" I smack my hands against my knee for something to do. I'm lying through my teeth; I don't regret it. I would never trade getting to kiss her or show her the time of her life for anything. I do regret pushing her away, even if it was the right thing to do. "I may be a fucking idiot with impulse control, but that doesn't mean I don't—"
"If you say 'have feelings,' I'm going to drown you," Declan interrupts.
"Well, it's the truth." I narrow my eyes. "It's no better than what you did to her."
"No, what I did is somehow a lot better," he says. "You managed to make my shit seem like a walk in the park."
I glance over my shoulder at him. He has a focused look on his face as he pulls out a handful of coins. His lips move, counting them. He'd be a pretty good accountant if he tried to make something of himself. Imagine that on your resume: good with money and numbers due to many years as a drug addict.
"So, what's with your newfound sobriety?" I ask. Consider that Band-Aid ripped off.
He raises an eyebrow, which reminds me so much of Carter I feel sick to my stomach. "It's not a newfound sense of anythin'. Just ran out of cash. Plus, I'm tryin' to be there for Carter since you ain't able to, too."
"Not gonna last then?" I ask.
"No. Not for long."
Sometimes, when I let myself think about it too long, I blame myself for Declan. I've never been one for extracurricular activities, but drugs seemed like one I could get behind. They promised relaxation, a hideaway from the world, an escape. They seemed like the perfect solution to our messed up situations. For a while it was all good, and it worked—no harm, no foul. Then Declan wanted something stronger, and he wanted it more frequently. Then he was out of control.
"How much have you got?"
Declan drops his money into the bag. "Fifty bucks and twenty-two cents. They don't clean this that often, I guess. There's more to grab."
"Huh." Almost fifty dollars in wishes. In a small town, no less. Guess not everybody's lives are what they're cracked up to be.
Headlights appear down the road, and I tense. The fountain is in the middle of town, which makes it the worse place to be committing any crimes.
"The cops?" I wonder, squinting. The last thing I need is to run interference with the cops.
Declan shrugs and leans down to pick up more coins. He's been arrested twice already. The first time Kara helped pay bail, and the second time she refused. Carter had trouble digesting that, despite knowing tough love was best. It obviously didn't work.
The headlights blind me for a split second as they come toward us and then fall out of alignment with me. I blink to get the black spots out of my vision. It's not a cop—it's a plain, black car.
I sigh, relieved out of my mind. "Man, maybe it's time we give this thing up."
"Hey, I'm making money tonight. I don't give a shit what you do," Declan bites out, an edge to his voice that hasn't been there all night. He's been fine because he's working toward his fix. The last thing he wants is to leave.
A car door slams, and I jump. Shit. It had better not be a good Samaritan or an off duty cop.
"What are you two doing?"
Worse, it's Gabe.
I nearly fall over in my rush to stand up. Normally I'd have a quip or a comeback for anyone else, but Gabe terrifies me. He might not be Carter's dad, but he's in that role. He's not my buddy or my friend; he's my judge, jury, and executioner. He knows it, too.
He looks furious, as though he planned to tear me limb from limb. Guess that means Carter told him everything.
"Working," Declan answers. I'm not sure why he's even trying. It's preferable to just keep quiet in the face of imminent death.
"You're stealing," Gabe corrects icily.
He doesn't pay Declan any mind and comes straight for me. I'm taller and stronger than he is, but I'm no match for the fury in his eyes. I messed up, and he's not going to let me get away with it.
Gabe charges me, throwing a punch when he's close enough. I see it coming a mile away, and I could easily avoid it, but I deserve the hit. I take it. I relish in the pain because it's my penance for hurting Carter.
The reason for the punch—not the punch itself—is why I stumble back. I don't wipe at my face or try to brace my nose. I just let the blood ooze down my cheek, mouth, and chin.
There's clinking behind me, where Declan is still picking out change as though he could give a shit about me getting punched.
Gabe points at me. "You hurt her again and you'll pay."
I have nothing to say because I agree with him. If I do anything to upset Carter again, I should pay. Hell, I want to. Trouble is, I can’t seem to shake my recklessness. No matter how hard I try, I’m still the same imbecile bred out of trailer trash and booze.
He spins and stalks off. Over his shoulder, he calls, "That goes for you, too, Declan."
#
Carter doesn't say a word the entire ride. I wish I were the reason for her silence; at least that's something I can fix. Right now it's as though I were back in high school Algebra, trying to solve for a variable.
When I first got into the car, she flinched. Flinched. She’s afraid of me, all because of some random druggie who doesn't know his manners.
I glance at her as we pull into her driveway. She hasn't tried talking me out of coming home with her. I'm sure it's because Gabe's nowhere to be found—or at least his car is. Still, I think he'd take one look at her and forget all about me. She went from looking freaked out to like she's not here anymore. If she were crying or screaming, I think I'd know how to handle it. But this?
"You ready to go in?" I ask, quiet-like. I don't want to scare her.
She gives me a stiff nod. I can't see the side of her face from here, but I'm sure it's already bruising like mad.
We both get out of the car, and I walk around the front to wait on her. She walks in a slow slouch. Her body's got to be sore from getting smacked against the countertop. That sort of pain ricochets everywhere.
Before we're even to the front porch, the door opens, and Kara steps out. At first, she only sees Carter. "What are you doing home so early?" Then she sees me and then Carter’s face. "Oh God, what happened?"
She practically runs to Carter, panicked. Kara reaches up to touch her face, to get a closer look at the damage, but Carter rears back, shaking. The jolt brings her out of that place she disappeared into, and now she looks like she's about to burst out in tears.
Kara looks as though she were about to go into hysterics or go postal, "What happened?"
"Somebody roughed her up at the gas station," I say through gritted teeth.
"No," Kara whispers, voice cracking. She covers her mouth, shaking her head. "No. Why—who—"
Something cracks in Carter. Maybe it's her heart—I'm not sure. All of a sudden her shoulders lift, and she starts to sob. As much as I hate seeing her cry, this is the reassurance I needed to know she's okay. She needs to feel what happened before she can heal. This time she doesn’t freak out when Kara pulls her into a hug; instead she just hugs her back.
They don't stop hugging, even after we're inside the house. They take residence on the couch, and I realize they probably want to be alone together. I busy myself by going to find some ice for Carter's face. I remember the house pretty well, considering I used to have a space on the counter for my keys and everything. Many of times I raided their fridge and cabinets. I grab an icepack and a cloth towel, then head back into the living room.
Kara's touching Carter's face and wincing. They both look up when I get close, but it's Carter who reaches out her hand. "Thank you," she whispers. "For everything."
"Hey, you're where I'm supposed to be," I tell her hoarsely. I don't want her to see how close I am to losing it. "I just wish I'd been there."
"It wasn't time yet," she says simply.
"Can you get the first aid kit?" Kara asks me.
"Yeah. It doesn't look too deep, thank God," I say. "Be right back."
Back in the living room, Carter holds the pack to her face, and Kara wipes the blood from Carter's neck. "I wish you would've called me."
"The police came fast, and I was too freaked out … I don't know what I would've done if Boone and Jason didn't show up," Carter says, looking lost again. "I couldn't think straight."
"Of course you couldn't," Kara tells her. "I just feel like some mother spidey sense should have gone off."
"You're not a superhero," I say to Kara. "Unless you've got a lasso of truth or are from the planet Krypton, you ain't gonna be able to know that stuff."
Kara's phone starts ringing over on the arm of the couch. A picture of her, Carter, and Gabe pops up on the screen, along with Gabe's name. She holds it up. "I'd better take this. I texted him, and he's probably about to jump from a cliff over this." She holds the Band-Aid and the antiseptic out to me. "Can you take over?"
"Sure, yeah." I take them from her, then sit down in her place. I don't know if I imagine it because I've been Carter-free for so long, but I swear she shifts closer to me. Her elbow is almost on my thigh, and her hip is pressed into my knee.
"I can do this on my own with a mirror," she says.
"Yeah, but you want me to do it."
She closes her eyes. I think she's about to ignore me or go with some offhanded remark, but instead she says, "Yes."
I stare at her for a long second, waiting for her to change her mind. I've never really given her a choice when it comes to me, so if things are going to change I need to give her room to do that.
When enough time passes so I'm sure she's not going to tell me something different, I reach for her and run my thumb just below the still-bleeding cut. Her skin is hot, even though she's been holding ice on it. If that's any indication of the bruise she's going to have, it's going to be bad.
"You're beautiful even when you're hurt," I tell her.
Her eyes are surprisingly soft when she opens them. "That's not a very healthy comment."
"The fact that we're always patching each other up isn't healthy, either."
Her lips pull into a small smile. I should be finishing up what Kara started, but I feel as though I were finally finding my footing with Carter, as if we were both finally in the right headspace.
"I wasn't really mad, you know," she whispers.
"About what?"
"You kissing me. I wasn't mad—not really."
"I'm not sure if I believe that."
She brings her hands up to my cheeks. “Okay, I was mad. You’re right. But I was also confused and scared.”
"You're not now?"
"Not as much."
She leans into me and brushes her lips against mine. I stare at her, wide-eyed and stock still. What if this is post-traumatic stress or something like that? What if the same thing’s going to happen where she regrets the kiss later? Here she's been guarding her heart, but maybe I should be doing the same, too.
Only I can't do that—not really. Where Carter is concerned, I’ll give everything I’ve got.
So, I do exactly that. I kiss her back, trying to say everything that’s gone unsaid or not-believed between us. Words might not convince her of the way I feel, but actions might. With just a kiss, I’m telling her I love her with my lips, promising to be around forever with the pressure, and cradling as a promise that I’m not going anywhere.