Summer (Four Seasons #2) (7 page)

Fuck.
 

I close my eyes, and for a second it’s like I can feel Avery’s hands on my back, rubbing up and down, soothing me. I pull my phone from my pocket, unable to fight it any longer. I’m such a fucking coward. I’ve been blocking her messages, unable to even bear the knowledge that she’s even been reaching out to me. I need to know the truth right now, though. The second I hit the unblock button, Avery’s messages come rolling in. I read over them, my heart sinking further with each new chime of the phone. She’s not saying she’s hurt, but she is. She really is. I let out a shaky breath as I read the last one, which was over two weeks ago.
 

Avery: Fourteen days and no word from you. It would have been good to know that the last time I saw you was goodbye, Luke. I hope whatever reasoning you have for doing this is good, because you’ve broken my fucking heart.’

“Holy shit.”
 

“Blasphemy now too, huh? Things must be bad.”

I glance over my shoulder and Cole’s leaning against the back wall. I feel like swearing some more. I came out here to get some peace, to be alone, and yet it seems like this particular area of Cole’s warehouse would benefit from a revolving door.
 

“Talk,” he says. “
Now
.”
 

“I’m not really in the mood to—”

“I don’t care what you’re in the mood for, man. I care about what you need, and you need to talk to me. Right now.”

A part of me wants to tell him to go get fucked. It’s exhausting feeling like this, though. Constantly trying to keep my shit together, knowing that I’m about to fail. I let out the breath I’m holding—the breath it feels like I’ve been trapping in my chest for the past month. “I know. I keep thinking I’ll get over this. I keep hoping tomorrow will be easier than yesterday, but it’s getting worse. I’m can’t sleep. She’s like a fucking drug, Cole. I feel like my skin is crawling, like my fucking soul is shrinking away to nothing.”

“Only thing shrinking away to nothing are your balls, man. Like I said before, we need to get you drunk and laid.”

I shake my head. “I’m not ready for that shit. I can’t.” I lean against the balcony railing, resting my forehead against my folded arms. “I blocked her calls. I thought a clean break would be best for the both of us.”

“I know.”

“What do you mean you know?”

“She called me a while ago.”

“What?
When
?”

“After she went home. After you made the grand announcement that you guys had broken up and no, you didn’t want to talk about it, and no, we shouldn’t ask any fucking questions. She wanted to know if you were alive. I guess you probably should have let her know you were dumping her cold turkey, dude.”

“I didn’t dump her cold turkey.”

“Okay. Then explain yourself.”

“She’s…just better off without me.”

“You’re a fucking retard, man.” Cole laughs, but it lacks all humor. He’s frustrated. “You guys were like Bonny and Clyde, for fuck’s sake. You’re so dumb for dropping her.”

“I didn’t drop her.”

“The hell you didn’t. You fucked the girl for three days and then put her on a plane and didn’t look back. If that’s not dropping someone, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s not that simple. What did she say?”

 
Cole shrugs. “That she’s done with you. Told me to tell you to lose her number.”

I nod, biting my bottom lip, trying to push back the urge to throw up over the railing onto the sidewalk below. “Yeah. Well, I guess I should have expected that.”

“I love you, man, but you have a fucked up way of dealing with women, you hear?”

“Shit.” I laugh, drawing myself up straight, pushing back my shoulders. “Coming from you, that means I’ve really messed this up, huh?”

“I think I’m supposed to be offended right now.”

“Sorry, dude. It’s just you’re more, y’know…”

“Of a complete cunt when it comes to breaking women’s hearts?”

“Yeah.
That
.”

“Man, I just own it is all. Chicks know what they’re getting when they fall into bed with me. They’re getting at least four or five insane orgasms and a slap on the ass on their way out the front door. I get the feeling you promised this girl the earth.”

“Yeah. I kind of did.” I groan, rubbing my eyes with my fingertips. “I love her, dude. I love her so fucking much. I
want
to give her the world, but my head is just so fucked. I wanted to get better before we got in any deeper.”

“You’re so fucking ridiculous. You should just text her, man.”
 

“At this point, what would I even say? Fuck. It’s just…such a mess.”

Cole gives me a sad smile. He leans against the railings beside me and nudges me with his shoulder. “Yeah, it might be. But whatever it is, Luke, you gotta get yourself sorted out. And I know I’ve been a pushy prick since we got here, and I won’t shut up about the band, but I’m saying this to you now because this whole situation is making you crazy. I don’t want my friend to be sad.”

Cole’s never been this candid with me before. I feel like a complete asshole when I realize I have a lump in my throat. “I know. I will. I have to just figure it out.”

“Maybe…maybe you should just let her go,” Cole says quietly. “You clinging to her isn’t loving her. It’s you being a selfish prick. You’re no good to her or us like this. Get some proper fucking sleep. The world looks like a different place when you’re functioning on eight hours, man.”

I have no idea what Cole thinks he knows about a full eight hours sleep, but I nod anyway. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Let’s go grab something to eat. We’ll work on the songs later.”

“Has that short squatty bastard gone?”

Cole laughs, offering me his hand. I take it and pull myself upright. “Yeah,” he says. “And I get it. I hate working with strangers too, but this is part of the deal, man. We just need to roll with the punches and take our aggression out on stage. And when we’re not on stage, we need to blow off steam in a seedy hotel with some hot bitch underneath us. Agreed?”

“I don’t do seedy hotels, dude. I’ve seen too many dead hookers sprawled out on semen stained mattresses to ever willingly check into one of those dives.”

Cole blows out his cheeks, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. Fuck a chick at the Hilton if it’s gonna make you feel better. I’ll even pay. But
damn
if your mind doesn’t go to some dark places.”

I follow him inside, keeping my mouth shut, knowing that what he’s said is the straight up truth. My mind
does
goes to very dark, sinister places.
 

And isn’t that just the problem?

EIGHT

AVERY

THREE WEEKS LATER

“I really don’t see why we need to do this.” Morgan grumbles in the seat next to me as I drive through the freak rainstorm we’ve just hit.
 

“You’re joking, right?”

“No. Do you see me laughing, you crazy witch?” She leans back in her chair, lifting her tennis shoes up to the dashboard. I swat at her leg before she can get them up there.
 

“No way. Your manners suck royally, by the way. Jeez.”

“You’re only just realizing this about me? Whatever. Look, I’ll buy you lunch and we can catch a movie instead. Just turn the car around.”

“No. You’re going to your meeting, and I am going with you. It’s settled.
Period
.”

“Narcotics Anonymous is not a tourist attraction, Avery Patterson.” She pouts in that way that only she can. “We’re not animals to be gawked at.”

“Don’t even bother trying to pull that shit with me, young lady.”

“You seriously do
not
need to come!” She’s growing more and more exasperated by the second, but I’m wise to her. I’m not backing down. “I don’t know why you think I need a chaperone,” she says, sulking.

“You need a chaperone because I saw that letter on your kitchen table from the center, Morgan. I know you’ve skipped your last three meetings, and I know what your mom said when she left New York last year. She said if you missed
one single appointment
, she’d drag you kicking and screaming back home. And I can’t let that happen, okay? I need you here, with me.”

Morgan remains silent.
 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t ever see you in another hospital bed, Morgan,” I whisper.
 

“It’s just so embarrassing. I feel like I’m failing at life,” she whispers back.
 

“Sweetheart, you have no need to be embarrassed. And you are not failing at life. Everyone’s addicted to something, one way or another.”
 

“Bullshit.
You
aren’t.”

“Of course I am.” Luke Reid’s face shoves its way into my mind, making my eyes prick sharply. Oh, hell no. No crying over that bastard today. I grip hold of the steering wheel, inhaling deeply.
 

“What? What the hell are you addicted to, Avery?”

“Chocolate and the Vampire Diaries.”

“Fuck you, girlfriend. I’m addicted to class A opiates. I think that’s slightly different.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Compared to me, you’re a fully functional member of society. I’m the only fucked up one around here.”

“Oh, I assure you. I’m plenty fucked up, babe.” She must hear the tension in my voice. Morgan places her hand on my arm, rubbing gently.

“I’m sorry, chica. I’m being an asshole. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just…”

“He who shall not be named?”

“Yeah.” I swallow down the huge lump in my throat. It should feel better by now, shouldn’t it? It should hurt less. It’s been almost two months. You’d think I’d be over this by now, and yet I’m not. It just keeps getting worse and worse.
 

“All right. That’s it,” Morgan says. “Maybe we should scrap the pact for this evening and talk about it. About
him
. It might help you.” I made her swear a while back that she wouldn’t even mention his name, because she kept asking about him relentlessly and it really
wasn’t
helping.
 

“You are not getting out of your session by dredging up all of my crap, Morgan.”

“Not now. After this we can grab a burger or something.”

“I don’t know, Morgan. Talking about it just seems counterproductive.”

“Like me going to my sessions, you mean?”

Fuck. She has me there. “Morgan—”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll shut up about us going to Seabrook if you swear to vent when we’re done. Then we’ll be even.”

“All right. Sure, I’ll try.” At this point I’ll say anything just to get her ass into one of those seats. If I really don’t feel like rehashing every single Luke Reid related nightmare I’ve had since he vanished off the face of the earth, I can always renege later. Sue me.
 

Morgan turns the radio up, giving me another sad smile. I’m grateful for the break in the conversation. Another fifteen minutes pass, and Morgan grows more and more tense by the second as we draw closer to the counseling facility. By the time I pull up in the parking lot, her body is almost entirely rigid.
 

A small wave of guilt washes over me. I may give her a hard time but in the same vein, I hate that she has to do this.
 

I get out of the car and walk around to wait for her. She’s taking far too long, and her complexion looks pasty at best.
 

“Hey, how about this...” I slip my arm into hers as we head toward the yawning entrance of the vast building. “How about I put down that I’m addicted to sex toys? If I can keep a straight face the entire time, you have to buy lunch.”

A smile lifts her mouth. “Avery, you have absolutely no hope whatsoever of pulling that off.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I can do this.”

 
“Wait. Are you really a sex addict? It’s ‘cause of Luke, isn’t it? I don’t blame you. I would have been addicted to his di—”
 

I slap her on the arm, an itching sensation crawling across my skin. I’m not ready to joke about sleeping with Luke yet. No way. “I said toys. Luke wasn’t a toy.” If he was, he would have been a brightly painted baseball bat that looked like it was really fun to play with, when in reality it was covered in barbed wire and had shards of glass embedded in the damn handle.
 

“I’m just saying.” Morgan dodges away from me, grinning, as I lunge at her, trying to slap her again. Her smile is contagious.
 

We walk into the air-conditioned building and sign in at the very prestigious-looking front desk. Morgan completes the paperwork required of her as I look around. The place looks rather empty until an older African-American guy opens the door closest to us. “You ladies here for the N.A. meeting?”

It dawns on me; I can’t say I’m addicted to sex toys. Seabrook House might well cater for that particular addiction, however this session is specifically for
drug
addiction. Morgan turns toward me, handing me the pen as she answers him.
 

“We are. You can cue the music. We brought the party with us.”
 

The man smiles and shakes his head before moving back and holding the door open. I sign in as a guest—it costs a fortune to actually receive treatment here—and then I follow Morgan into the room beyond.
 

“You gonna do it?” Morgan hisses at me.
 

“Do what?”

“The sex toy thing.”

“I can’t! These people are here to talk about drugs, not fake dicks. My pretend illness will not be solved in here.”
 

“Chicken shit.” Morgan bites back a smile. As she looks around the room, her eyes glaze over, as though she’s not really seeing what’s in front of her. There are only three guys in the circle with us, and all very much look the part. One, a Hispanic guy, his hair matted to his head, has his eyes closed as if he’s sleeping. The other two are pale like ghosts. One fidgets like crazy, his nervousness infecting the atmosphere in the room. The other is staring me down like I might be his long-lost love.