Deliverance (The Maverick Defense #1) (15 page)

L
ight warmed my face and I tilted my head into its rays letting it warm my skin, and that’s when I felt it.

Something was wrong.

I tried to lift my head off the soft pillow beneath, but everything ached. My bones, muscles, the skin covering them. Everything was heavy and sore. My mouth was arid, my tongue mashed to the roof of my mouth. I gagged.

What the hell happened?

There had been the argument with Donnie then I had tried to fix my face. The pills, damn, I took the pills. Shame weighed me down where I lay quickly replaced by a sinking feeling as I realized I wasn’t in my own room. There was no window in my apartment bedroom. So unless someone had dragged my bed into my small living room, I was somewhere other than my apartment.

Bracing myself, I slowly opened my eyes. Pain radiated through my cheekbone and my head felt ready to explode, but I refused to let the memories in. Not now. Not when I had more important things to deal with. Like where in the hell was I, unless … no.
No!

Familiar walls stared back at me, except the movie and sports posters were gone and had been replaced with the odd family photo. Striped blue curtains no longer framed the window and Dawson’s furniture had been sanded down and repainted, but I would know this room anywhere. After all, I’d spent enough time in here back when I was a senior.

Testing my coordination, I edged myself to the side of the bed and rolled up into a sitting position letting my legs dangle onto the floor. The whole room spun and I clamped my eyes shut trying to fend off the lightheadedness. It wasn’t the first time I’d awoken disorientated after getting high, but I’d never woken up in a different room let alone a different house before.

I’d never been
that
out of it before.

Had I?

My legs quivered as I pushed up onto them and shuffled across the room to the small adjoining bathroom. A wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks and I swayed on the spot to avoid crumpling down at the intensity of it. I just needed a shower and some water, and then I needed to get the hell out of here.

There was only one explanation … Mikey. Somewhere in my fogged-up brain, I could remember his messages of concern. He must have come over to check on me when I didn’t text back. Another wave of shame hit me. It was bad enough Mikey seeing me strung out, but Dawson … I never wanted him to witness this.

Ever.

A door banged downstairs and I froze, my heart beating in my chest, but I stepped into the cool shower and closed the door behind me. The water trickled over my clammy skin, washing away the night before. But it couldn’t rid me of the humiliation—the self-loathing—coursing through my veins. All the soap in the world couldn’t scrub that away; I carried it around with me like a disease.

Eventually, I turned off the spray and stepped out of the shower wrapping myself in one of the fluffy towels hanging on the rail. I dried myself and dressed, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror covering one wall of the small room. I needed to collect myself, to put on my mask ready to face Mikey … Dawson. I couldn’t do anything about the purple bruises now. I had no makeup to cover them.

All I had now was me.

Mikey, Dawson, and the blond-haired guy they’d been with at Shakers were huddled around a laptop when I entered the room. Their heads shot up and the blond closed the lid casually, but I caught their expressions. Like I’d caught them red-handed, only I wasn’t sure what I’d walked into. The blond relaxed back in the chair tucking his hands behind his head; Dawson stood rigidly, and Mikey smiled weakly and said, “Coffee?”

I shook my head tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My heart beat so hard I felt sure they could all hear it, but no one said anything. Dawson just stared at me, his blue eyes burning into me. Seconds ticked by. Each one more torturous than the one before. The blond and Mikey glanced back and forth between us; I felt them staring, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

Dawson.

How had we ended up here, like two strangers across enemy lines? It felt wrong.

So wrong.

“Well, as much as I’m enjoying all the tension and silence,” the blond spoke, pushed his chair away from the table, and bounded toward me. “I’m Lex. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and grinned down at me.

“Uh, hi,” I murmured, uncomfortable that he knew more about me than I about him.

“Joy, right?” he asked letting go of my hand. “Dawson’s told me all about you.”

He has?

My eyes flickered to Dawson, who was staring at me. Right. At. Me. My eyes dropped and I wrapped my arms around my waist. I wanted to appear okay—in control of this screwed-up situation—but with him sitting there staring at me like he’d seen a ghost—or worse—I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t think straight.

“Nice to meet you.” I attempted a smile, but it was impossible. I never expected to wake up nursing a comedown while standing across from the guy who made my life so much better.

My
old
life.

“You sure you don’t want coffee?” Lex asked yanking me from my memories. “You look like you could use some.” He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit. I dropped into the seat looking anywhere but at Dawson.

“So you work at Hank’s?” Lex took the seat across from me. I nodded, not sure where he was headed with all the questions. “Best breakfast I’ve had in a while.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Mikey called over his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with my pancakes.”

Lex’s eyebrow arched, and he shot me a smirk. He’d obviously experienced Mikey’s chaotic cooking style, which made me wonder what else he knew. Mikey placed four mugs on the table, and I pulled one toward me. Heat seeped out of it and I curled my hand around it focusing on the burn.

“I’m sorry I never made it to your mom’s funeral.” I gulped back my guilt, surprised at the way the words tumbled out of my mouth. I hadn’t planned to say them, not really. At least, not yet. Not with three guys watching me like I might shatter at any second.

Mikey took the seat next to me and mumbled something under his breath. I couldn’t bring myself to meet Dawson’s eyes. He already knew too much—had witnessed too much. The room started to close in around me, and I pushed back into the chair trying to get some distance.

“Sorry I can’t stick around, but I have to get back. Thank you.” I flashed Mikey a half-smile trying to convey my gratitude. I hadn’t planned to run off like this, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. I needed air.

I needed to get the hell away from Dawson’s scrutiny.

Turning away from Lex, I started for the front door ignoring the low whispers behind me. Another chair scraped across the floor and I knew it was Dawson. My feet moved quicker and I yanked open the door and hurried down the path to the sidewalk.

“Joy, wait up, just wait …”

I heard his voice call after me. My heart pleaded with me to stay—to hear him out—but I didn’t turn back. Dawson was my past. But it was more than that. He was part of a different Joy’s memories. The girl I used to be. A girl who no longer existed.

He wasn’t part of my present.

Not anymore.

Dawson didn’t follow me. Mikey texted a couple of times, but I ignored him as I made my way back to my neighborhood. The shower had cleared my head some, but I still felt a little jittery. I hugged myself tighter keeping my head low as I crossed Hefner and turned right onto my block. I’d contemplated heading straight to Sherri’s because I didn’t trust myself to be alone—not after seeing Dawson—but I couldn’t risk running into Donnie yet.

I needed time.

What I really needed was for Dawson to get the hell out of Chancing. His presence here wouldn’t end well for anyone. There was too much history. Unfinished business between him and Donnie—I saw it burning in their eyes in Shakers. So much left unsaid between the two of us. Not that, after all these years, there was any hope of finding a resolution. I was with Donnie now.

Donnie DeLuca.

Four years ago, I would have laughed at the very idea of it. He was our friend—best friend—not someone I could ever imagine being with. He wasn’t strong and confident like Dawson back then. He was quiet and meek and preferred the shadows to the limelight. He didn’t wear his name with pride; he carried it like a noose around his neck. Dawson was the one who shone, who people loved and respected and gravitated to. And I had been his.

My apartment building came into view and I shut down that dangerous line of thought. I was Dawson’s no longer. My hand reached for my purse and met empty space, and I cursed into the cool air. I had no purse, which meant I had no key. Mikey must have used the spare I kept underneath the doormat. But what were the chances he had returned it after leaving with me? I padded up the stairs to my door and peeled back the corner of the mat unable to stop the slight smile tugging at my lips. Of course, he’d returned they key—trusty, reliable Mikey Spencer.

At one time, Dawson was the person I depended on. He was my person; the guy who made life that little bit better. But that was a long time ago, and now, we were nothing to each other.

Liar.

Guilt coiled itself around my heart and the cautious voice inside my head had me glancing around the place before I slipped inside my apartment. The last thing I needed was for Donnie to find out I stayed at Mikey’s last night. He wouldn’t care about the reasons why I wasn’t here all night. Just like he didn’t care about the marks on my face. The marks
he
put there. Donnie only ever saw what he wanted to see, what suited him. But he would care about me sleeping under the same roof as Dawson. He knew I went to Mikey’s occasionally. I’d begged him to let me have the Spencer’s as a place to run to when things got too much. He didn’t like it, didn’t approve, but he’d eventually conceded. That was when Dawson was out of the picture, though. Now, now, he wouldn’t want me anywhere near Mikey or his house … or his younger brother.

Everything was different now. The apartment looked the same, smelled the same, but it felt tainted. Wrong. It had never felt like home. Home didn’t exist anymore; it hadn’t since Grams died, but it had been
my
space. The one place I could shut out the rest of the world and pretend that my life was still my own. I’d crossed a line—one I promised myself I wouldn’t cross. The drink, the drugs, it was my way of coping around Donnie; it made things easier with him, but I never brought that shit into my own space.

Ignoring the red flash of the answering machine, I went straight into the bedroom and kicked off my shoes, changed into some shorts and a tank, and climbed into bed. Exhaustion seeped into every cell of my body, only I wasn’t sure if it was the comedown or the aftermath of coming face to face with Dawson. Just the thought of his name had my eyes fluttering shut and my heart beating faster. How was it possible that I still felt this way after everything?

I didn’t have time to think about it. The knock on the front door startled me and my head shot up. No one visited my place except for Donnie or Sherri, on the odd occasion. But it wasn’t either of them. I felt it all the way down to my soul. There was only one person standing on the other side of my door.