Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3) (6 page)

“I take it we don’t like Aaron.”

“No, we don’t like Aaron. In fact, we
hate
Aaron. To the point where just hearing his name makes me want to stab my ears.” I look over at the horizon, an insane view that can only be seen from this exact spot, and the ache in my chest rebuilds itself. “I guess they came in to surprise Chaz.”

“Are you pissed?”

I sigh. “I’m trying not to be, because I don’t really have the right, you know? It’s been a long time since we broke up, and she’s moved on.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I can’t, dude,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ve tried. And it’s not like the opportunity hasn’t presented itself—”

Robby blows out a breath, cutting me off. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you on tour. I’ve read the shit online, watched the videos of all those girls throwing themselves at you. You must have the strength of a thousand men, Josh.”

I look at him, my heart in my throat. “Or the weakness of one.”

—Becca—

H
is truck was
here when we got back from lunch, the same truck which held memories of a sand-stealing night at the beach, of first kisses, and of first loves. Grams had taken a piece of cake from the restaurant he’d booked and as soon as we got home, the first thing she did was march up his stairs and knock on his door. He wasn’t home. And he hasn’t been home since. I know, because I’m in my old bedroom, staring out the window with my thumb between my teeth, the curtains spread, watching and waiting for him. Just like I’d done during the first two weeks I’d moved here. But I don’t just want to see him. I want to talk to him, or at least my version of talking, and I want to apologize for ruining his plans. I’d spent the entire lunch feeling horrible about it, all while Aaron sat next to me, his hand holding mine on the table, charming the absolute crap out of Grams.

I give up hope at around midnight and get into bed, but I don’t sleep. I can’t. My mind reels with absurd assumptions. Not absurd in a way that they can’t possibly be true, but absurd in that I have no right to be feeling how I feel
because
of those assumptions. After a half hour of tossing and turning, I’m convinced Josh is with a girl. And I get mad at myself that it’s so much easier to convince myself of that than it is to remind myself that it shouldn’t matter, because I’m here with a boy, a boy who has been so excited to meet my grandmother—and he’s sleeping in the room next door.

I silently moan into the pillow, frustrated, then punch it a few times, because over a year of therapy has taught me that it’s better to hurt the pillow than it is to hurt myself, because hurting myself gets me nowhere (besides over a year of therapy). And that’s how my thoughts go for the next hour, around and around and around some more, circles of insanity flipping over and over in my mind. Then I hear a sound that has me sitting up and reaching for my phone. A sound I’ve never admitted to missing: four wheels spinning on concrete.

I jump out of bed and switch on my lamp before parting the curtains and looking down into the driveway. He rolls in, both feet on the board, and stops by his truck. After throwing the board into the back seat, he shuts the door and just stands there, his head lowered. A moment later he starts to move, one foot in front of the other, until he’s halfway to his stairs and suddenly, his feet falter and he looks up. Up. UP. I quickly shut my curtains and look at the wallpaper, my phone held tight in my hands. My eyes shut as I try to level my breathing, and when the beating of my heart slows enough so I can actually think, I open my eyes and look down at my phone.

Becca:
Can you meet me outside?

The seconds feel like minutes while I wait for a response.

Josh:
Will you be alone?

Becca:
Yes.

Josh:
ok.

I dress quickly and as quietly as possible, rush down the stairs, my nerves building. I pause for a moment with my hand on the knob and try to steady my thoughts. When I open the door, Josh is the only thing I see. Visible only by the moonlight, he sits at the bottom of the stairs, hat in his hands and his head lowered. He looks up when he must hear me approaching. I wave. He does the same. Then he motions to the spot next to him. I hesitate, because standing in front of him is one thing. Sitting next to him, possibly touching him, is another. But when he looks at me, his eyes tired and his smile forced, I push aside my fears and give in to his request.

“What goes on?” he murmurs.

I pull my phone from the pocket of my hoodie and type,
I’m sorry for ruining your plans with Grams.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice sharp, when I show him the screen.

The silence that passes is awkward, filled with tension—tension I try to relieve.

So, you weren’t even going to say hello to me?
I type, forcing my own smile when he looks up at me.

He laughs. It’s quiet. But I hear it. I see it. And I let myself get completely lost in it. “Yeah,” he says, looking up at the stars. “I’m sorry about that. I guess seeing you just…” He faces me now, his eyes searching mine. “You kind of knocked the wind out of me, you know?”

I exhale slowly, feeling the effects of his words, and I do everything I can to tear my gaze away from him and look down between us. I tap his cast, something I knew would be there because an e-mail alerted me to it three days ago. After looking back up at him, I raise my eyebrows. “It’s fine,” he says with a shrug.

He’s leaning in to me now, his arm touching mine, his leg doing the same as he reads my message.
And Tommy’s? Is his okay?

“He’s all good,” Josh says as I stare down at my phone. “He healed like a pro.”

That’s good
, I type, my thumbs trembling.
Where is he now?

“Robby and Kim’s. I just left there.”

I hide my grin, glad he wasn’t with a girl, and nod as I look up at the sky, trying to ignore the effect he has on me.

“So.” He pushes my leg with his, breaking the silence. “I kind of planned this surprise party for your grams tomorrow, but I can cancel,” he says, replacing his hat on his head. “If you wanted to do something with her or whatever. Just let me know now so I can make the calls first thing.”

“No,” I mouth, shaking my head, my smile wide. My thumbs move across the phone again.
That’s really sweet of you to do that. She’s going to love it, Josh. Thank you.

He doesn’t respond for a while, so I turn to him, to his eyes set right on mine and I try to read him, try to feel something more than the nerves and the tension building between us.

His eyes narrow as he licks his lips, lips chapped from all the outdoor skateboarding he does. “You don’t need to thank me. She means a lot to me. Even before
you
came along.”

I’m not exactly sure why his words hurt, but they do, so I reach into my pocket and pull out the cash that he’d given my grams. It wasn’t the reason I came out here, why I’d waited all night to see him, but it was my saving grace, and right now I’m weakening—by his presence, by his words, by our pain. I hold out the money for him and wait for him to take it.

Aaron paid for lunch. He said thanks for the offer and for booking it all. He really enjoyed the meal
, I type, not knowing what else to say.

Josh shoves the money in his pocket and leans forward, his arms resting on his knees. He lets out a moan from deep in his throat and looks at the darkness in front of him. “I’m glad you’re here, Becs. It means a lot to your grams that you are. But do me a favor…” He faces me. “Don’t talk to me about him, okay?” I open my mouth, my words on the tip of my tongue, but he beats me to it. “It’s bad enough that I have to be around him, in my own fucking house, but it kills me to have you sit here and talk about him.”

Crossing my arms, I narrow my eyes at him, my mind reeling with a response. As soon as one comes, I type frantically on my phone.
You’re being mean.

He reads the message and then drops his head in his hands, another frustrated grunt leaving him. I watch the rise and fall of his shoulders, wide and nothing but muscle, pulling against the fabric of his shirt. After removing his hat, he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. “I’m not being mean,” he mutters. “I’m just being honest, Becca.” He sighs loudly, still refusing to look at me. “You know,” he starts, his voice low. “When things didn’t work out between us, I thought about how it would feel when you moved on. What it would be like to know that it was some other guy lying next to you at night, some other guy who got to see you in ways that I’ve spent the past year and half dreaming about. I hate that he gets to touch you, and hold you, and get lost in your eyes and feel everything I felt, and
still
feel. And for a long time it was okay…” He sniffs once and wipes his eyes against his sleeve, keeping his head lowered. There’s no anger in his voice, no insult in his words. Just pure heartbreak. His
and
mine. “It was fine because I was never jealous of a specific person. I was jealous of everyone and everything around you. I was jealous of the air you breathed, the paths you walked, even the hearts you’d crush. Because they all got to be around you and I couldn’t.” He finally looks up, his glazed eyes doing nothing to cover his torment. “But then I met him and now he has a face and a name, and I
hate
him. And I told you I would. I told you I’d smile and I’d nod and I’d be amicable toward him. For your sake and for your grams. But I fucking
hate
him. And you can’t blame me for that.” He chokes on a breath and stands quickly. “You can’t be hurt and you can’t be upset that it makes me sick to my stomach having to sit here and listen to you talk about him. Listen to another guy’s name fall from your lips. Lips
I’ve
craved and
he’s
tasted. You just can’t, Becca.”

—Joshua—

T
he pounding on
the door matches the throbbing in my head, and my first thought is that it’s Aaron knocking. That Becca had gone back to her bed and back in his arms, crying about the way I’d left her on my steps. But then I remember it’s Chaz’s birthday, and I curse myself for staying out so late last night and forgetting my plans. I put on some pants and tear open the plastic around a new Globe T-shirt sitting in my suitcase before shrugging it on. Then I rub my eyes and inhale deeply, hoping to make it through today. For Chaz, and maybe for my own goddamn sanity.

A middle-aged man looks up from the clipboard in his hand when I answer the door. “You Josh Warden?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

He hands me a stack of papers. “Here are the non-disclosures and insurance papers you requested. All my workers signed them.” I can tell he’s holding back an eye roll, and to be honest, I understand why. But Chris makes everyone who does work for me fill out the stupid papers. “What are you anyway? One of those reality stars or something?” he asks, looking into my two-bedroom garage apartment.

I drop the forms on the entry table. “Or something.”

“That’s cool.” He shrugs, already bored with the notion. “Where do you want us to set up?”

I step out, shutting the door behind me, and lead him to the backyard. The driveway is already filled with catering vans and decorators, and even though it’s just a small party with Chaz’s church lady friends, I wanted to do something nice for her. I owe her that much. “So you guys will be done by 1? It’s a surprise, so I’d like it ready before she gets back from church,” I tell him.

He grins. “You had the funds, I got the manpower.” And with that, he gets to work.

I watch, making sure they don’t do any damage to Chaz’s garden. A few minutes later Robby shows up, his truck loud as it reverses down the driveway. I walk over and inspect the timber loaded in the bed. “It looks good,” I shout while he jumps down from his seat.

He closes the door. “Of course it does. You seem to forget I taught you everything you know,” he says, stopping beside me. “It’s to the exact specifications you wanted, Josh. I went over it fifty times. Even had Kim out with the measuring tape just to be sure. I know how important it is to you.”

“I appreciate it. I just wish I had the time to do it myself.”

“We can say you did. She doesn’t have to know.”

“And live the rest of my life under God’s watchful eye knowing I lied to her? Nah, man. I’m good.”

He laughs at that before motioning to my cast. “Are you going to be able to help me put it together, or you want me to call one of the guys?”

As if right on cue, the front door opens and Aaron and Martin walk out, Becca following behind them. “You guys need a hand?” Aaron asks.

I look over his shoulder at Becca, who’s looking down at her feet.

Then I nod.

I smile.

And I act
amicable
toward him, just like I said I’d be. “That would be
swell
.”

“
Swell
?” Robby whispers.

I turn to him, baring my teeth with the fakest of all fake grins. “Just fucking
swell
, Rob.”

*     *     *