Chapter 6 #2
I claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, remembering each line of his body.
He mutters my name under his breath, over and over, like an apology and a curse at once.
The wall scrapes my spine with each thrust and it feels perfect because pain is the only thing that makes me sure this is real. That he is real.
I erupt with a feral cry that echoes through the night, and with his fingers digging into my bottom, he finds his release too.
I can feel every burst of his hot breath against my mouth as he pants, his body rising and falling against mine, his muscles bunching with tension.
Eventually, he lets me slide down the wall until my feet hit the ground, my hair soaked and clinging to my face.
He reaches out and slides a wet piece of hair from my forehead, then holds my face in both hands, searching my eyes like there might be something left in us worth saving.
“I’m sorry,” he says, in a way that lets me know it’s real.
I touch his jaw, running my thumb along the line of stubble. “Me too.”
We just stare at each other, for the longest moment, and then he says in a gravelly voice, “I’m not done with you.”
And, just like that, I know that tonight I will belong to Travis once again. Tomorrow, everything will be just as complicated. But for now, in the loud, wet dark, we just are.
The next morning, I do the walk of shame down the road back to Chief’s house.
I wasn’t meant to stay with Travis, but I couldn’t seem to say no, either.
Not that I ever want to say no.
Now, I’m wearing his shirt, because my clothes are still wet, praying that I won’t run into anyone while I try to get back into the house.
So, of course, I run into Chief.
He’s sitting on the front porch, perched on the top step with that face that tells anyone going by not to come in, a mug of coffee steaming in his thick hands.
I pause on the driveway, and his eyes lock onto me, take in the spectacle: hair wild, long naked legs poking out beneath a shirt that isn’t mine, and heels hanging from my fingers.
“Mischief,” he murmurs. “Guessin’ you had a good night.”
I try to play it breezy. “It wasn’t bad,” I shrug.
“Uh huh.” He pauses, takes a sip, eyes never leaving me.
“Well, I better have a shower,” I say, and sidestep him, aiming for the path to the garage. I have to get out of this shirt, these memories.
The steps creak as I try to calmly take them.
“Where were you last night?”
Shit. He’s onto me. He is. “Just out with Reagan.”
“Out.” His voice is clipped.
I turn, meet his gaze head-on. “I went to Travis’s show. Had a good time. It was nothing different.”
He takes in the shirt, and now it suddenly makes sense. He recognizes it. His jaw is tight as he looks back up at me. “You see him after.”
It’s not a question. I don’t answer, but my silence is louder than a confession.
Chief sets his mug down on the railing so hard I think it’ll shatter. “Are you fuckin’ serious, Violet? You think you can just dip in and out of that mess and not get burnt again? Thought you were smarter than that.”
I cross my arms tight over my chest, crumpling Travis’s shirt with my fists. “Just because I saw him doesn’t mean we are back together.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you? He’s not clean. He’s not even close to clean. He has a problem and that ain’t something you want to deal with. He’s back where he started, and now you’re going to follow him straight to the grave. You want that, Violet? You want to climb in after him?”
I open my mouth, close it, open it again. “I’m not the same lovestruck girl I was two years ago, Dad. I’m not an idiot.”
He softens, just a touch. He always does when I call him Dad.
“I get that, but he’s on a dangerous path, kid, and I think you’re an idiot if you keep staying here thinking you can fix him. You can’t. I promise you that. Go home, Violet. Go to the life you decided to create when you left the last time. It was the right choice.”
That stings in a way nothing else could. “You want me to go?”
He shakes his head. “No, I fuckin’ don’t, but I never want to see the look on your face I saw when they took you away the last time. That broken expression haunts me. Don’t let that be how your life goes.”
“I’m all he has,” I say, softer now.
“No, kid, you ain’t. He has us. He has his band. He doesn’t need you.”
He’s wrong, though.
Travis has always needed me, just like I have always needed him.
“Well, no offense, and I mean that, but none of those things have helped him yet, have they?”
He flinches. “I’m not goin’ to dictate how you live your life, you’re not a kid anymore, but I will tell you you’re makin’ a big mistake goin’ back near that man.”
He turns and walks away before I can answer.
I exhale slowly, and head into my room.
In the bathroom, I let the shower run hot, as if I could melt last night off my skin, as if water could change anything at all.
I can still smell him on my skin, even after I try to wash him away.
Finally giving up, I get out of the shower, get changed and climb into bed.
I exhale, texting Reagan and telling her I have so much to share later.
She stayed with Harley last night, but she knows where I was.
Reagan knows everything.
I stare at Travis’s number, and wonder if he has woken up yet and noticed I’m gone?
Did I sneak out, while he was sleeping?
Yes.
I did because I know that the road we’re about to go down is bumpy, and I need to decide if I’m all in this time.
I can’t be half in. I can’t quit when times get tough.
The choice now is simple: either I am giving myself over to Travis Phoenix for good, or I am walking away and this time, I’m not looking back.
An impossible choice, because it feels like both endings are going to hurt just as much as the other.
So how do I choose?