Losing Track (16 page)

How the hell do people do this sober.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

My back tenses, and I grip the shirt in my hands. “I’m not. Been busy.” Bringing the sleeves together, I continue to fold the tee.

Boone moves to the laundry room doorway and braces his shoulder against the frame, half in the room, half out. His hair isn’t fixed today. His usual, deliberately messed spikes lay relaxed, unkempt. I can’t help noticing it looks really cute.

He crosses his tatted forearms over his chest, watching me fold clothes. “Want some help.”

“I got it,” I say, quickly folding my last pair of jeans. I grab the folded pile and place them on top of the unfolded heap in the basket.

“I still need about ten hours of service,” he says. “I don’t mind. Laundry beats doing anything out in the heat.”

“Sorry, all done.” I grab the basket and anchor it to one hip, then move to step around him.

He blocks the doorway. “Mel, what’s up?”

I bite my bottom lip, my gaze aimed past him. “I have literally three days left. I’m just trying to do my time. Not really in the mood to eff off lately. That’s all.”

He drops his arms. “I didn’t realize… Damn. Time has fucking flown by.”

“Yeah, well…” I shrug. “It hasn’t for the rest of us stuck in here.” I look up at him and tick my head toward the community area. “I have a few last-minute assignments to finish up.”

He doesn’t move, instead, he continues to stare down at me, his features strained. Like if he outwaits me, I’ll be the first to bend. But I’m good at this game; you have to care in order to lose. I could stand here all day and only be pissed that I missed the chocolate pie promised to us after dinner.

Finally, he says, “All right,” and steps aside. I shuffle the basket higher on my hip as I walk past him.

“Hey,” he calls, and I freeze in place. My back to him. “Just tell me. Did I do something to piss you off? I mean, this is far from affable.”

I shake my head. “It’s not you, guy. You didn’t do anything.” I glance behind me. “I just…I have to take this seriously. And that’s hard to do when I’m plotting evil ways to lure you away from celibacy.”

A hint of a smile twists his lips. He nods slowly, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers this. “You probably would’ve broken me.” His eyes flick up, search mine. “All this shit aside, I’m not the good boy you have me pegged for.”

A pang knocks my chest. “Yes, Boone. You are.” His lips part, but I shake my head and continue. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m doing what I need to try to get out of here. Period. No distractions.”

His shoulders pull back. “You have any fear that you won’t?”

Do I? After my last meeting with Doc Sid, that went about as well as my others…I’m not sure. I turn and adjust the basket to both hands, positioning it like a barrier between me and Boone. “I’ll get out. But…they fuck with your head in here,” I say. “I’m not…myself. So I’m not sure how I’ll be once I am out. I don’t think—”

He raises a hand. “I get it, Mel.” His hazel eyes skim over my face, and I feel more than vulnerable. “I’m glad you’re being honest, because you’re right. It would’ve been difficult to continue any friendship outside these walls.” He starts off around me, brushing my shoulder as he passes. My heart lurches into my throat.

He doesn’t get it. I’m doing him the biggest favor. I know I am—but what sucks? I usually don’t give a damn when I blow a guy off. I’m through. Moving on. But for some screwed up reason, I feel ashamed that I can’t let Boone in on why I’m giving him the ice bitch brush off.

“Oh wait—here,” he says.

Turning slowly to face him, I see him dig something out of his pocket. He walks over to one of the tables and scoops up a pencil. He jots something down on a tiny piece of paper, then walks back to me. During this whole process, I’m already deciding that whatever help he’s going to offer will end up in the trash. I won’t stay in St. Augustine for long. I’m not someone he needs in his good, clean world, so why bother keeping up the pretense?

“Just in case you need anything.” He hands me his number scrawled on the paper. I take it, suppressing the effect his quick touch has on me as our fingers connect.

He shrugs a shoulder. “I know you won’t find a sponsor after treatment, and I’m not offering that. But if you ever just need someone to talk to…” He sighs and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

The paper is hot in my hands. I tuck it into my back pocket. “Do me a favor,” I tell him, looking up to find his gaze. When he raises an eyebrow in question, I say, “Find a good girl, Boone. Someone who will get you out of this scene, away from this depressing shit.”

He smiles. “I can’t have both?”

I shake my head. “No, you can’t. Whatever is dragging you here, day after day, whatever guilt, you won’t move past it until you’re away from Stoney. No matter how bad the thing is you’ve done, you
are
a good guy. Stop torturing yourself. The past is the past.”

His easy smile falls fast. “You don’t know—” He clips his words off, anger evident in his tone. My stomach sinks as he looks away, his jaw tight. Then, with a sigh, he says, “And what if I already found her?”

My insides knot. “I said a
good
girl.”

Gaze still holding mine, he flexes his hand and curls it into a fist. His mouth pinches into a hard line. “Right. Because you’re such a badass, Rizzo.”

This makes me smile a little. I glance at the tile floor, forcing my features stern. “No, because people I care about get hurt around me,” I say seriously, then look up at him. “The worst thing I could ever do is care about you. I’m telling you right now”—I stare into his eyes; make sure he sees the truth—“if you were counting on me being some kind of mission, where you’d swoop in and save the lost girl, then we’d run off into the sunset…that’s not the way this story ends.” I walk around him, hoping he finally gets the point. I won’t be responsible for hurting this guy, or making him slip off his clean track. Because I know that’s not where I’m headed.

“Why does the story have to end?” he calls out.

I turn back one last time. “They always do.”

And because I hate ending things on a grave note, I add, “Do me another favor. Make sure this girl fucks you good and proper. For me.” I wink.

There. All done. I walk away feeling marginally better about myself for cutting ties with this guy. It was bound to get messy, and I have no way to bail while I’m trapped here. He’s safe now.

Boone

Taste not, sweetness is deception

GOOD GUY BOONE. THAT’S me. I almost laugh. But the tragedy of those words rip through me with serrated edges of truth, killing the joke. I can’t stop thinking about them, though. Wondering if I made the wrong call by allowing Melody to believe them.

When she called it quits, I let her. I walked away. It was the right choice. Let her believe whatever the hell she wants.

Propping my elbows on my knees, I lean over my hands and begin wrapping. The smell of dank, dirty carpet and ammonia irritates my nose. The cleaning bottle sits next to a fresh stain of blood near the door. Humming from the tropical fish tank is the only noise bouncing around the small room other than the stretch and tear of the tape. Stretch and tear. Repeat.

Colorful fish—yellow, blue, orange—flutter around the grimy tank, and it does little to calm me like its purpose here suggests. I’m wound too tight. Stretch and tear.

I probably just dodged a bullet, though. If Melody hadn’t given me the elbow, I wouldn’t have left her alone. I would’ve kept going back, seeking more of her, like she’s my new fix.

And that’s pretty much what she’d become during her short stay at Stoney. Because now that she’s no longer around, I feel the emptiness. The craving and the need—the
want
. Just to be near her and stare into her dark eyes, feel her soft skin, hear her throaty voice.

That’s a dangerous thing for an addict. Anything,
anything
can become an addiction.

But damn if I wasn’t welcoming the torture.
Look but don’t touch
.

I got so wrapped up in my fixation with this girl I even stopped going to Nickel’s as much as I should’ve been. I wasn’t feeling the pull that I normally do. That’s why the shit with Miata Guy happened in the first place; it was the first time I’d skipped. So it makes sense that I went seeking it elsewhere. Melody could’ve been really dangerous for me.

This fact is further proven as I’m sitting here obsessing over her now instead of paying attention to how I’m wrapping my hands. Shit. I undo the white tape and start again. I need to have the thought of her and her sexy ass beaten out of my head.

Peeking his head into the small, dingy room, Turner cocks his chin and holds up a hand, fingers splayed. “Five minutes, bro.”

I nod and return to taping my hands, leaving my knuckles exposed this time.

One good knuckle-buster should knock Melody out of my head for good.

Melody

Follow me down, my love, to the void

“THERE SHE IS!”

Randy’s voice rises above the chaos of cheers and welcomes as I enter the bar. He rushes over and wraps his big, burly arms around me and lifts me in the air. I laugh as I’m spun around, suspended by this bear of a man.

He sets my feet to the floor. His scraggly beard snags a few of my hairs as he steps away and smiles down at me. “What kind of bird don’t fly?”

I never understood this saying, but I answer anyway. “A jail bird?”

His deep laugh vibrates through me as he hugs me against the side of his chest. “That’s right, girl. Welcome back.”

He releases me from his hold, and I’m immediately pulled into another hug. This time by Suzie, one of the bartenders. She’s usually the one on duty when I work weekday nights. When I
worked
…past tense. I’m not sure yet where I’ll be working now.

“Missed you, hunny,” she says. Her lazy drawl is in part from being from the south, but mostly sluggish from the number of shots she’s already downed. It matches her giant, blue-rimmed eyes and redder than red full lips. She’s a walking cliché, but she’s the sweetest woman in the world, and she’s genuine, at that. I smile as she slips back to adjust her bra, squishing her boobs higher toward her neck.

“Damned things just don’t work like they used to,” she says, pulling her fitted shirt down. Then she winks at me. “Don’t take your youth for granted, hunny.”