A Perfect Mess (27 page)

“Really? You’re really gonna try to feed me that crap?”

It figures Boone would be too smart for that. So, I switched to anger, guys were so good with anger. “Get out,” I ordered, my jaw so tense I thought it was going to snap.

Something blossomed in Boone’s eyes. That smart fucker. I willed him not to say it. “Is this about Dad?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing in anger.

I didn’t say anything, just walked away into my bedroom and started to change into my running clothes.

“It is,” he said, materializing in the doorway. “Fuck, Booker. Dad was a bastard. But this won’t be on him this time. It’ll be on you.”

I wanted him to shut up because he was making too much sense. I shoved past him and slipped on my running shoes and started to lace them up.

“Why don’t you man up? Because he certainly didn’t.”

“When I get back, I expect you’ll both be gone.”

“You want to know what I think,” Brax said quietly. “I think you’re not worried that you’ll leave her. I think you’re worried she’ll leave you.”

I swallowed hard, swinging around to face Braxton, who stood with his hands tucked into his belt. That fucker didn’t say much, but when he did…

“Aubree’s not a dream or Little Miss Perfect. She’s a woman, a real one. It sucks to be a grownup, doesn’t it, Booker?”

“Right. You’d know, Boone.”

He sighed and it hurt when he looked at me and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. “Come on Brax. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Is the intervention over?” Brax glanced at me, and although emotion wasn’t his thing, for a moment I saw that he didn’t want to give up on me. Because I hadn’t given up on him. I felt a rush of emotion, so strong, for both of them. I understood they were trying to help, and God knows we had always stuck together, building a bond that could weather anything. We would weather this, too.

“Yes. We’re done.”

“Is Booker coming, too?”

Boone met my gaze, too, and his expression one of compassion and support. Damn him and his sensitive and knowing heart. “No, he’s got something to do. It’s all up to him.” It made me cringe to realize that Boone expected me to do the right thing. But the problem was—I
was
doing the right thing. I had to let Aubree go.

When they left, I stood in the hall and seethed with an anger that welled up inside me. Damn, Boone!

I went out the door and down the stairs. Trying to get back the Zen of the swamp that I had achieved on the boat. My decision was over. It destroyed me because I wanted her so bad! I’d made it and I wasn’t going back. I pushed back the thought that I was still letting Langston’s words all those years ago affect me. I’d let him win somehow. Was this really about Aubree being better off without me? Or was the truth closer to what Braxton had said?

I pushed all that stuff away. I was about the good times and about enjoying myself. I wasn’t going to delve too deep into the morass. Better to leave it alone. Maybe I needed to grow up by degrees.

But Braxton’s words shredded my gut. I couldn’t get them out of my head.

I started to sprint, then I was full out, running away, running, running.

When I got back to the house it was dark. I climbed the stairs and let myself in. I heard a noise and my mouth thinned. I would freaking skin Boone if he was back for round two.

I came into the living room and went to flip on the light, but a furtive footfall and the sound of displaced air made me pivot. The sense of danger had been just a hair too late, but the move probably did save my life as something hard cracked against my forearm, pain biting. The figure in the dark was already going for another blow, and I was too slow, caught off-guard by the sudden attack. I backed up as the object swung at me again. The tip hit my temple hard, snapping my head around, clouding my vision to a gray blur.

Oh, fuck. I’d made a mistake. A miscalculation. I knew this attack wouldn’t stop with me.
Aubree!
Brain synapses shorted out. I tried to stand, tried to block the next strike, but the messages never made it to my muscles. The blow landed, and everything went black.

Chapter Thirteen

Aubree

After my horrible crying jag, all of it came pouring out of me like a river of pain. I told my momma everything that had happened between Booker and me since I’d come back to Suttontowne. Up to and including the night I told him about watching him from behind the bleachers. But I kept Wild Magnolia Road a secret.

“I’m so ashamed that I did nothing. I didn’t even speak to him or thank him. I just let him think Langston was right.”

“Oh, Aubree. Always taking the whole world on your shoulders. You were sixteen years old. That’s so young, and you should try to cut yourself some slack. I’m sure after Booker has had time to think about it, he’ll give you a chance to explain. You’re not perfect, honey. No one is.”

My phone chimed, and I almost ignored it because I didn’t want to get another one of those text messages. I should tell my aunt about that mess, but the repercussions were just too huge to deal with right now. And Booker hadn’t given me permission to tell anyone. We were in it together.

But if it was from him, I didn’t want to miss it.

Can we talk?

I gasped. It was from him. I immediately thought Boone must have told him about my reaction at the front door and he was feeling sorry for me. I almost texted back no, but it was more important to explain everything.

I texted him back.
Yes
.

I waited and got a response.
Meet me in front of your house. I’ll be in the Mustang.

At first I thought the last statement was odd. Why would he tell me he’d be in the Mustang? I would see that when he pulled up. But I dismissed it.

“Is that Booker?”

“Yes. He wants to talk.”

She smiled. “See? I told you he’d come around.”

I nodded, but my stomach was tied up in knots. I didn’t want to lose him.

I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, trying to fix my red and swollen eyes. I brushed out my hair and almost pulled it back in a ponytail, but decided to leave it unbound. It was time I loosened up, in more ways than one.

Ten minutes later I heard a car pull up outside and my momma pushed back the curtains. “Mustang outside.”

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

When I left the house, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. I looked back and my momma peered out. She waved.
Wait until I tell Booker.
I waved back. I wondered how he would react. I stepped toward the car, but he didn’t get out to open my door. He always opened my door for me. I frowned, ready to give him a hard time. When I reached the car, I pulled open the door, the words on my lips, but I froze.

Daniel Langston sat in the driver’s seat. I jerked back, but he said, “Get in the car or you’ll never see Booker again.”

His eyes chilled me, and not because they were empty or cold, but because they were exactly the opposite. His determination to find out about Damien was absolute, and I could tell he was willing to do anything to get answers. My heart rose into my throat and I panicked for Booker’s safety. My voice tightened to a high pitch. “Where is he?”

“Get in the car, Aubree! Now! I’m not bluffing,” he said through gritted teeth, a man on the verge of exploding.

I looked back at the house, but he pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. “Don’t do it. You can’t outrun a bullet, and if by some miracle you do, you will seal Booker’s fate.”

It was no contest. Booker and I were in this together. We would either come out of it okay, or we’d die together, because this time, I wasn’t hiding or running away. But I didn’t plan to die tonight, either, because now I knew how much I had to live for. I got inside and closed the door. The curtains were closed when I looked towards the house. My hope died.

“Where’s Booker? What have you done to him?” I whispered, using my anger and hate as shields to beat back the terror.

“Don’t worry. This little party wouldn’t be complete without him.” Daniel said as he put the car in gear.

He pulled out of my driveway, panic fluttering inside me like the frantic beats of a terrified bird. “You know something, Daniel? I thought maybe you would have learned something after your brother’s disappearance. Maybe that pushing people too hard and indulging your own selfishness and fear at the expense of others was wrong and would always be wrong. But I see that you’re reverting back to your base instincts, like an animal who doesn’t know any better.”

He backhanded me across the face, splitting my lip, and I tasted blood. But it was worth the pain that made my eyes water.

He snorted with disgust. “You’re in no position to lecture me, Aubree. Little Miss Perfect. Little Miss Pure. Well, I know differently. You and your white trash, smug bastard boyfriend are going to get what you deserve.”

I licked away the blood and glared at him. “Calling him all those names only labels him according to your weak and twisted standards. Like those words can ever change my mind about Booker. You have
no
idea what we deserve. You’ve never treated anyone with the respect they are due, except out of fear, because that’s all you know.”

When we turned onto Wild Magnolia Road, my stomach flipped over and my heart stalled.

“Whatever, Aubree. It doesn’t matter anymore. I want answers.” He shoved me so hard my shoulder slammed into the door, sending pain jarring through me and down my arm. He leaned over me and opened the car door. “Get out. But if you run, it’ll all be over.”

I turned to him. “You used his phone. Where is he?!” I yelled, rubbing at the stinging pain still cascading down my arm. He got out and headed toward the back of the car. “Oh, God,” I whispered, jumping out of the seat so quickly I tripped and fell. I got back on my feet and hurried to the rear of the car.

Coming closer, thunder rolled and lightning flashed behind a bank of clouds, the momentary arc revealing the wild Magnolias, heavy with huge, waxy white flowers, looming over the lane. He popped the trunk.

“Booker!” I screamed when I saw him lying limp at the bottom of the trunk, the side of his face running with blood. Thoughts flashed back through my mind like a kaleidoscope of terror. In that one elongated moment, I stood there staring at his still body in the dark—was he dead? Had I lost him? The agonizing pain from that thought paralyzed me.

“Fucking Outlaw.”

His words released me, and the power of my love for Booker galvanized me. No matter what happened, I couldn’t let Daniel disrespect him, not anymore. I turned on him like a madwoman, clawing at his face, going for his eyes. His hands came up and he backhanded me across the face and I fell into the dirt, my cheek stinging with pain.

I didn’t stay down. I surged up from the ground like a woman who had nothing to lose. I punched him in the jaw and his head snapped back. He grabbed me by my shirtfront and shook me, then tossed me back into the dirt.

“You’re a monster,” I cried, my voice sharp and trembling.

“Shut the fuck up. He isn’t dead…yet.”

I looked up at him, holding my throbbing cheek, my breath hitching at the sinister cast of his features in the dim glow of the trunk light and the intermittent flashes of lightning.

I watched Langston with a sick sense of dread, and a strange, lethargic numbness tried to drag me down. But I fought against it. No! I wasn’t going to retreat. I would experience it all, no matter how bad it was.

“I’m not leaving here until I get some answers about my brother, Aubree. And you’re going to give them to me,” he said, smiling ever so faintly, his intense, golden eyes on mine, unblinking. He reached down and hauled me to my feet. “Scream again or attack me again and he will die.”

He turned back to the car. “I tried to give you a chance to talk to me. On the street and through text.” He looked at me again with that determined, hot gaze that cut through me, leaving in its wake nothing but ashes.

I wanted to scream, but he’d warned me that he would kill Booker. I couldn’t take the chance.

Langston looked at me, as if he had expected some response to his statement.

“What? Nothing to say now?” he mocked. “Not even a simple fuck you?”

My gaze went immediately to Booker. I wasn’t certain he was breathing, and didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. He was utterly motionless. Blood, sticky and brilliant red, matted his hair and glazed his temple and cheek, but I couldn’t tell whether or not he was still bleeding.
Dead men didn’t bleed.
I stared at his chest looking for the faintest sign of movement.