Thorn: Carter Kids #2 (13 page)

“KILL ME NOW.”

The half snarl, half roar that came from Hope’s bedroom was my first warning of trouble.

The large stuffed gorilla she slept with at night being hurled halfway across the landing from her room into mine was my second.

“What’s wrong?” I dared to ask, unsure if I really wanted to know.

“I’ve lost sixty thousand words,” she hissed, stalking into my bedroom, looking somewhat deranged with her hair in knots and standing up in forty different directions. “Gone, freaking lost. Forever. That’s what’s wrong.”

With a yodel of sheer despair, Hope threw herself down on my bed beside me and grabbed my pillow. “That piece of crap computer just crashed
again
and wiped all of my work
again
. I have a deadline I can’t meet, I have obligations I can’t fulfill, and now I’m officially screwed,” she moaned, covering her face with my pillow as she lay on the flat of her back. “All that work for nothing. Just leave me here to rot. I’m done. I quit. I retire.”

I told you to back up your work
, was on the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to refrain.

Hope was right about one thing.

Her computer was a piece of crap.

It had been giving her trouble for months now. “Don’t be so dramatic, Hope. You work for yourself and your readers will understand if you need to push the date back a few months. So just calm your shit and buy a new computer,” I told her. She really needed an upgrade. “But maybe take a shower before you go into town.” I took a quick whiff of my friend and gagged. “I get that you’re in your hermit, locked-in-the-house writer mode, but I think you should get out of the apartment for a day.”
With me,
I silently added. I knew full well why Hope preferred to hang around with her new friends; they didn’t remind her of the past. They didn’t know about Jordan, and she could pretend when she was with them. God knows, I understood it, but I didn’t like it. Hope was vulnerable and I hated to see her being taken advantage of.

“You don’t get it, Teegs,” she moaned, ignoring the shower part. “I started on that one – I wrote my very first book on that piece of crap. It holds sentimental value. And I don’t want to jinx myself. For all I know I’ve been incredibly lucky. That computer could be my lucky charm.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re not lucky, you’re bloody talented.” Jumping off the bed, I reached forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her miserable, stinky, overgrown ass off my bed. “The words are in here,” I told her, tapping her head, “not in that piece of shit plastic in there.”

I was used to Hope’s crazy writer mode, and I understood when she needed to dive into a book and stay there, but she was like a dazzled baby bunny when she came back up for air.

This time was more severe than usual. Hope only got
this
bad around the anniversary. It kind of ruined her, and her being ruined kind of saved me from going down that similar spiral.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, tugging on the sleeves of her hoodie – the same hoodie she had been wearing since Wednesday.

“Well then it’s a good thing I do,” I countered. “Come on,” I told her. “Clean your ass up and we’ll hit the shops.”

“I do need ink cartridges,” she offered, slightly optimistic at the thought of our shopping spree. “And some sharpies too.”

“Yes.” I nodded, as I shoved her towards the bathroom. “We can get all of those and more. Just clean yourself up first.”

“Hey Teegs?”

“Yep?” I looked back at my distraught looking roommate.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she muttered sheepishly, as she poked her head around the bathroom door. The steam rising behind her assured me she was indeed going to clean herself.

“It works both ways, Hope.” I told her.

WE SHOPPED UNTIL WE DROPPED,
and when we were fed and watered, we made it back to the flat to get dolled up for a night out on the town with our friends.

We ended up staying in Reilly’s bar, our usual hangout, for karaoke night.

It was going really smoothly, right up until Hope put her hand up for a song.

Liam, noticing me grimace, turned to me and asked, “Is she a terrible singer or something?”

“No.” I closed my eyes and braced myself. “She can sing, but she gets a little…weepy after alcohol.”

Hope took the microphone and when the background music of Pink’s
Who Knew
blasted around me, I knew this was bad.

“You took my hand…”
she sobbed into the microphone.
“…You promised me you’d be around…”

I flinched, feeling her pain right down in my bones. Sometimes I wished I could erase Jordan Porter altogether. It killed me watching Hope live this half-life of an existence.

I hoped his conscience kept him up at night.

Bastard.

In many ways it was worse for Hope. With Noah, I knew I was playing with fire. He was like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at any moment. But Jordan wasn’t like Noah. He and Hope had been together their entire lives and the guy had let her down worse than anyone I’d known. I’d never seen heartbreak quite like that.

I was
living
my life, miserable as it may be, whereas Hope’s life seemed to be on a complete standby. She was on pause and it infuriated me.

I had fair warning with Noah.

Hope never stood a chance with Jordan.

BY THE TIME LIAM
had managed to wrestle the microphone out of Hope’s hands and get her back to the apartment I was completely wiped out.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us, buddy,” I whispered when I had finished undressing Hope and had gotten her into bed.

Closing her bedroom door behind me, I went back to lounge to where Liam was standing. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I gave him a drunken hug. “Thank you for tonight,” I whispered. “I wouldn’t have been able to get her home without you.”

“Whatever you need, Teagan,” he replied warmly, enveloping me in his arms. “Always.”

“You can stay here tonight,” I said against his chest.

“I can?”

“Sure.” I nodded, breaking out of his hold. “You’ll never get a taxi at this hour. I’ll go grab you a blanket for the couch.”

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Liam told me when I returned with his blanket.

“Thanks,” I replied, embarrassed.

Reaching out, he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind my ear and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“So…do you want to watch some telly?” I offered, desperate to change the weird clammy atmosphere that had settled between us. “I have the first three episodes of the new season of
The Walking Dead
recorded?”

Liam stared at me for a long moment, almost imploring me with his eyes, until finally he shook his head and sighed. “Sure, Teegs, it’s your call,” he told me, sinking down on the couch.

Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the television before settling down on the far side of the couch. “Rick Grimes it is,” I replied nervously.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, DUDE.”
Tommy Moyet slid the packet of cigarettes towards me.

“Ho fucking Ho, man,” I shot back, smirking. Fucker sure knew how to brighten up an inmate’s day.

Tommy and I had been friends since high school and to be honest, the guy had stepped up when I went inside. He visited frequently, at least once a month, which I had to admit I enjoyed a helluva lot more than I let him know.

Reaching down, I slid the packet into my sock. It wasn’t against the rules to have cigarettes in here, but I sure as shit didn’t share and Lucky was a chain smoker. “Appreciate it, T.”

“Anytime,” he replied warmly. “Eight more months, Noah,” he added, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be out before you know it, man.”

I responded with a grunt.

It might seem that way to Tommy, but anyone who had ever been inside knew that you weren’t out until you were out. A million and one fucking problems could happen between now and my parole and I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Not for one fucking moment. Not when there were assholes inside who could jeopardize my future at the drop of a hat.

This was a dangerous fucking world to live in and the only reason I’d made it this far as unscathed as I had was because I had been born into it. I knew the rules of the underworld. I knew the code of the scum. Stick to myself, keep my nose clean, and never back down.

But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t nervous.

Eight more months.

Two hundred and forty days.

I was on the cusp of freedom. I could practically smell it… and it was fucking terrifying.

Say nothing bad happened and I
was
released in eight months? How would I make it in the real world? I was only a kid when I came here, eighteen and green. Now I was almost twenty-four. That was a long ass recess from the real world.

“People are talking, Noah,” Tommy said in a hushed tone, leaning over the table towards me. “There’s more interest in you with the MFA now than back in high-school, dude. Some of the guys are saying that with some training you could go pro –”

“Incase it’s passed your attention, I’m a criminal, Tommy. I’ve got a record as long as your arm, dude. I’m not getting signed by any respectable company,” I responded wearily, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. My getting signed had been Tommy’s wet dream of an obsession since we were in our teens. Back then, before Teagan Connolly had come around and knocked my concentration to shit, the MFA – the fastest growing league for mixed martial arts and street fighting in North America – had shown an interest in me. That was then, before I had a rap sheet to contend with. “You know it and I know it, so why don’t you give the whole MFA shit a break, man. Please.”