Every Little Dream (Second Chances) (2 page)

My eyes open a slit and the vision blurs. Her blonde hair is a halo.

“Hey. Are you my angel?” My words are slurred, barely understandable. If she is and I’m in heaven, I don’t want it to end. Her warmth pulls away and I focus on her large eyes, her red lips. “Beautiful,” I murmur.

Car doors slam. Footsteps hit the pavement, rushing all around me. The moment disappears. Shit. I must not be in heaven. They lift my body onto a stretcher. I try to argue. “I’m fine. Let me walk it off.”
 

The blue uniform enters my vision before the cop sticks his face in mine. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be walking it off in jail tonight. But we’ll get you checked out first by a doctor. Your daddy won’t be saving your ass tonight.”

“Hey! I’m not drunk.”
 

I swear the guy mutters
bullshit
under his breath. His grip tightens on my arm. “You smell like a brewery.”

Oh, shit. I screwed up. Just one drink was all it took…and my past reputation.

The next couple hours blur. The stark white walls of the hospital close around me. The bright lights are blinding. And then there’s the poking, the prodding, and more burning as they bandage my scrapes. I could’ve walked away but someone called the cops.

The wheels of the bed they placed me on squeal against the floor. I put my arms out to the side. If they think I’m drunk, might as well play it up. “Woo hoo! I’m flying.” I put my lips together and buzz them like I’m sitting in the engine of a two-seater.

The nurse says nothing.

“Oh, look!” I point to the horizon. “The Rocky Mountains. What a view.”

The nurse shakes her head.

I don’t let her realistic view of life bring me down. I’m flying. The wind kissing my face. My dreams are carrying me away. Dreams I’d forgotten about until now. Dreams of flying across the country one summer, viewing the world from the sky.

I ignore the pitying looks as nurses try not to scold me. I’m used to it. I’ve learned to be a clean slate in the face of most people. They look and see nothing but the blank stare of a rebel. They can’t and won’t ever understand my life.
 

While they do their job, I pretend that I followed my dreams, that Dad never squashed them before they even had a chance to take off. That I’m not here because some asshole forced me off the road.

Soon, they help me into a wheelchair and steer me out to the waiting officer on duty. Minutes later, after a short trip to the station, the same officer is leading me into a cell.

“Hey, I’m sober. My bike’s a wreck. You can let me go. I’ll walk home.”

The same officer who was on the scene, who let me off last time after a brawl, steels his face. I recognize the look. I’ve seen it often enough on my dad’s, the clenched jaw and determined stare of not giving in. This guy won’t crack. I sigh, fading into the depths of the cell, the shadows enveloping me. I ignore the dull ache in my head and my chest. I find the most comfortable spot on the paper-thin mattress to wait out the night.

I lean my head against the hard wall and close my eyes. My chest rises and falls, so I know I’m breathing. The crushed dreams in this place that soaked into the air and drip down the walls and that hover around me are suffocating. That’s why I hate this place. I don’t mind sitting a night in a cell. I’ve done it before, but I can’t stand the despair that stains each cell, no matter which one I’m put in. I can’t escape it. I can’t fly here. I can’t even dream.

And without that, I am nothing. Without my dreams, I’m the no-good asshole that everyone thinks I am. I wait. And wait. I drift off, hoping for the night to pass quickly.

The bars on my cell rattle. “Chadwick.”

Shit. I jerk my head off the wall and open my eyes. Through the murky air, the outline of my dad stands tall. His large intimidating form is like a visiting demon. Any second, I expect smoke to trail into the room and his red eyes to pierce the darkness.

“Hey, Daddio.” I don’t bother anymore to convince him to call me Chad. He says that it’s unprofessional, that people won’t take me seriously with a one-syllable name. Fuck that.
 

“Again, Chadwick?” He tries to hide the disdain and the disgust but it’s there on the subtle edge of his tone. Without looking, I picture the cold glint in his eyes and the deep furrows on his brow. He won’t take me seriously. I’ve always seen to it that he doesn’t.

“I didn’t want to see it come down to this. I hoped you’d come around on your own.”

I hold back my usual flip answer. Discouragement and sadness weighs his words. They surprise me. Like in the dark, alone with me, he can let his true feelings show. Once upon a time, we had a real relationship.

“Dad?” I feel him out. Hoping he’ll talk to me. Hoping he’ll listen. Maybe this one time. That’s all I need. A small crack that I can wedge open and convince him to hear me out. Maybe. Just maybe. For a brief second, the sweet scent of hope battles the despair in this room.

He clears his throat and I can see him visibly shake off the emotion, any sense of attachment he had to me. It’s back to business.

“Chadwick. Use the night to sober up and think about your future. Hopefully in the morning, you’ll have a different perspective.”

I bite back a snort and a sarcastic comment. I don’t bother telling him I had one drink.
 

“I’ll give you tomorrow to clean up your act and rethink your life. But the next morning, I expect you at my office at 8 a.m. sharp.”

Then he leaves.

The next morning, I stumble back to the beach house I share with Jimmy. The place reeks of booze and girls like he invited the whole town back for a party.

His arm dangles off the couch. A smooth white leg sticks out of the blanket covering him and his girlfriend. I try and sneak past into the kitchen. I just want a cold glass of water and a hot shower.

“Chad? Is that you?” Andrea asks.
 

Jimmy’s been seeing her ever since I’ve known him. I know she wishes I’d stop crashing here, stop taking advantage of Jimmy. What she doesn’t know is that a nice sum of money is deposited into Jimmy’s account every month. I’m not a freeloader. I head into the kitchen and pour a glass of water from the tap. The cold liquid feels good trailing through my chest.

“Hey, can I talk with you?” She pads into the kitchen, the blanket wrapped around her.
 

“You two have quite the night last night?”

She shrugs. Her black curly hair is frizzing out all over the place. She jumps up onto the counter. A tentative look crosses her face. It’s no coincidence she’s talking to me while Jimmy’s out cold. I grip the glass afraid it’s going to break.

“How many years have you been living with Jimmy?”

“A couple.” Actually three. But since Carly and I broke up and I stopped any serious relationships I’ve been here more often. With a serious girl, I could crash at her place and give Jimmy and Andrea privacy. But lately, I’ve been here. Every night. I know what’s coming next. I can sense it.

“You know we love you. Jimmy would never say anything to hurt you or your relationship with him.”

“Yeah. I know.” I sound a lot tougher than I feel.

“But Jimmy and I’ve been talking. Thinking about moving our relationship to the next level.”

I hear her message loud and clear. She wants me gone. She wants to rope my best friend into marriage. Give him a couple kids and start a mommy club with diapers and bottles and shit like that.
 

“Am I cramping your style?”

She puts on a puppy-dog face, the pitying look I can’t stand. “No, we love having you here. It’s just that. Well. You know.”

“No. I don’t know.”

Jimmy grunts from the couch and then calls. “Hey, asshole. She’s trying to say the nice way that it’s time you find your own place.”
 

I salute Andrea. “Let me shower. I’ll be gone in a couple of days.”
 

That’s why Jimmy and I are best friends. We don’t have to tiptoe around each other. If he wants me gone all he has to do is say so. I don’t know where I’m going. I’ll crash at home if I have to even though the thought of it makes me want to jump off a cliff.
 

“Thanks, Chad.” Andrea heads back to the couch.

I call in a connection at the local garage and make a deal for a used motorcycle, and then I head to the shower. The hot water pelts my back, washing off the previous night. I have today. That’s it. Somehow, the visit to my dad’s office is going to be more bad news. I can feel it.

My mind wanders back to the night before. The accident. And the girl who barely kissed me. Was she a vision? Or does this angel exist somewhere?

If she does, she’ll stay far away from me.

Chapter 2

Katie

Justine bangs on the door. “Come on. You’re killing me.”

“Wait a few seconds!” I yell then can’t help but giggle. Truth is, I’ve been ready for more than a few seconds, but I keep staring at the girl in the mirror. It didn’t take long to get ready. Throw on clothes I wouldn’t normally wear: a short skirt, a too-tight tank, heels. A heavier touch of eyeliner and lipstick. The pink color wand across the front of my hair is the perfect touch.

No one will confuse me with the good girl. No one will know that the pink dye will wash out the next day.

Justine bangs again. “What’re you planning? You’re making me nervous.”

“Just a little experiment! Be patient.” I stare myself down and whisper, “Just a little experiment.” I can do this. I’m ready to put on some big girl pants…or take them off if that’s what’s needed. For heaven’s sake, I’m twenty-one and never been to second base.

Justine’s talking to me outside the door, rambling on, but I blocked her out a while ago. With my hand on the knob, I hesitate, the uncertainty gripping me, but I take a deep breath and open the door. She must feel the draft because she turns, squealing.

Her squeal dies halfway through. She grabs my wrist and walks me back into the room. She crosses her arms across her chest and gives me a pointed look. For some reason I feel like I’m in the principal’s office.
 

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“What?” I say, the image of nonchalance. “Just going out for a night on the town.” I shake my shoulders seductively. “Catch me a good looker.”
 

“Huh?” She looks dumbfounded. “Since when do you talk like that?” She paces, every couple seconds her eyes looking me up and down. She shakes her head. “You’re working for my uncle. I feel somewhat responsible. You can’t go out like that. What would your dad think?”

I wave my hand. “If I wanted my dad’s permission, I’d snap a picture and send it to him. Or I’d be living at home.” I pat my clothes and then my hair. Maybe I’ve gone too far. “Do I look too slutty?”

“Hell no. You’re completely hot. That’s why I’m worried.”

“Hey.” I soften my voice and lose a little bit of the tough girl act. “It’s still me. I’m just…tired of being scared of life. Of always being the good girl. Of guys looking right past me like I’m not even there.”

Justine sighs, flopping on my bed. “I get it. I do. But are you sure this is the way you want to go about it?” She glances at my feet, more specifically the three-inch heels. “Can you even walk in those things?”

“Um…kinda?”
 

“I wish I hadn’t promised my uncle to help in the kitchen tonight. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow when I can go with you?”

I almost agree to her idea. Having a partner in crime would be nice. “I can’t. If I don’t do this tonight, I might talk myself out of it.”

She wraps me in her arms for a quick hug, then lets me go. “I want a full report when you get home.”

“If I get home.” I wink.
 

“Wait a second.” She rushes to her room and returns with a cap and body spray. “Just in case you want to forget the night ever happened.” She adds the trendy cap to my head, which effectively hides most of my blonde hair. She pulls the chunk of pink hair so it falls across my face. She kisses my cheek. “Go get ’em.”

It’s not too long of a walk to The Salty Dog. I need the time to practice my lines and build up something that will look like confidence. I can’t walk in there without knowing my story. I pass the closed-up carts of the street vendors. All the sidewalk shops are closed, their merchandise pulled back into the stores. I can’t stand all the obnoxious T-shirts and perverted jokes on them but obviously they sell. There’s a concert, the catchy tune and beat of the drums hiding the click of my heels. I try not to wobble as one catches in a crack in the pavement. I toss my hair. Confident and bitchy. Well, not really. I’m aiming more for confidence with attitude, not bitchiness.
 

I’m practicing my sexy voice over and over so I don’t hear the car pull up next to me until the window is down and some jerk is whistling.

“Looking for a date?” His muscled arm hangs out the window. The car is full of guys.

I quickly look, not wanting to stare or seem interested. The cold gleam in his eyes, void of any compassion, jumps out at me. I take in his slick blond hair and push forward. Danger rolls off him like the tide coming in.
 

“Screw off,” I state, hoping he’ll get the message. Maybe I should have cursed? That might’ve sounded a little scarier. He’s not the kind of guy I’m looking for.

“Ooh. Tough girl.”

I stick my chin in the air. That’s right. But the car revs, inching along, staying right next to me as I walk. I try not to glance around at who might be available if the car stops. My heart races and I clutch my purse so I won’t wipe the sweat from the palm of my hands on my skirt. Maybe it’s too short? Maybe it is a little too inviting. That wasn’t my intention. Or was it?
 

I walk fast enough that I’m breathless. Their silence freaks me out. I blink back tears. Finally, I see the neon lights of The Salty Dog and want to cry. Two steps away from the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. At the last second, in a moment of recklessness, I turn and flip off the car of guys.
 

They honk their horn, catcalling from the window. Then with engine revving on high, they squeal away, leaving behind the smell of rubber.