Almost Beautiful, page 8
I tugged on Travis’s hand. “I’m telling you guys, something’s up with them. Mare’s right. We need to find out what it is.”
Travis looked to Shepley, who shrugged. “One of them had a Parkland College keyring with an Eastern State one on the same chain. They’re just a couple of cock suckers from Champagne, Illinois who’ve never met a Maddox.”
I arched my eyebrow at Shepley. I thought I was the observant one.
Travis took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
I hadn’t noticed until that moment that I was shivering.
“You know what we need to do?” he asked, kissing my cheek. “We need to move on. I’m not going to spend my life looking over my shoulder, Pidge. I don’t want you to, either. I’m going to call on that job next week, and you’re going to start tutoring. They’ll finish the investigation, and it will all be over."
I nodded, waving to America when Travis opened the passenger door. I slid in, annoyed that I was still shivering. I wasn’t cold, I was nervous.
Justin and Ricky had come to pick a fight with Travis.
I needed to know why.
Travis stood outside my door and lit a cigarette, holding his other hand flat against my window.
I pressed my palm against his, and he winked at me, blowing out a puff of smoke.
He took a few puffs and then pinched off the cherry, mashing the lit ash into the gravel with his boot. He stuffed the butt into his pocket, and just as he walked around the back of the car, Justin and Ricky came into view.
They were standing in the far shadows of the parking lot, staring at the Camry. Ricky and I locked eyes, and he spoke something to Justin, but didn’t look away.
I lowered my chin and lifted my hand, prominently displaying my middle finger.
Travis opened the door and I put my fuck you away, smiling at him as he turned the ignition and then placed his hand on my knee while he drove to the road.
The men stepped back into the darkness, out of Travis’s eyesight, but I knew they were there, watching.
“Everything okay, baby?” Travis said. “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to tonight.”
“I’m not upset,” I said, letting the suspicion and concern fall from my face as I turned to face my husband. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You still think those guys with their tiny noodle arms are rogue FBI or something?” he teased.
Travis’s birthday was in a few days, and I knew he was already teetering on turning himself in. There were plenty of reasons to lie.
I looked out the window to the side mirror, noting that a pair of headlights were hanging back almost a mile behind us. “No. I don’t think they’re anyone. False alarm.”
Travis patted my knee and drove toward the apartment, smiling like everything hadn’t changed—and I smiled with him.
Chapter Nine
Wrecked
Travis
“BABY! I WANTED A LATE snack. Stir fry in five!” Abby called from the kitchen.
“Awesome, I don’t know why but I’ve been hungry since about an hour after dinner,” I said, staring into the bathroom mirror.
I walked into the kitchen and kissed her cheek.
She looked at me, a concerned expression on her face. “You okay? It was the first day back to classes, the first time to see Keaton after the fire. Maybe we should’ve skipped The Red tonight and gone to bed early.”
“I haven’t been sleeping great. I think I hit a wall. I feel like I can barely keep my eyes open.”
Her eyebrows pulled in. “You look exhausted. Take a shower and go to bed. We’ll eat in there.”
“In bed?”
“Yep, I’ll get the trays out and we’ll have a quick picnic and hit the sack.”
“You are an angel,” I said, giving her a peck before trudging to the shower.
The water ran over me, but where it usually woke me up, I just felt more tired. Wasting no time, I scrubbed and stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist and padded in my still damp feet to the bedroom.
Abby handed me a pair of shorts and once I got them on, I climbed in bed. She sat a tray over my lap, and I leaned back.
“Swear to God, babe. I don’t deserve you.”
She sat next to me, grabbing a fork and shoveling food into my mouth. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be handfeeding you stir fry in bed. You absolutely deserve it.”
I chewed and then leaned my head back again.
There were so many things I loved about Abby, and I hadn’t even seen this side of her yet. She’d always been a little aloof, just beyond reach, and now she’d settled in, gotten comfortable, and—though I’d never say this out loud—seemed to be enjoying being a doting wife.
“Don’t expect it every night,” she winked, standing.
“There she is,” I said with a smile. I stabbed some veggies with my fork and shoved a huge bite into my mouth.
Abby turned for the hallway and I mumbled for her to stop before I could swallow.
“What?” she asked.
“Where are you going?”
She pointed to the hallway. “Dishes.”
“No fuckin’ way. You cooked.”
“Tonight I’m doing both. There’s not much. One of these days I’ll be sick, and you’ll have to carry more of the load. That’s how this works.”
“It can’t be this easy. People get divorced every day. Is this really how easy marriage is?”
“It’s not easy. This is the easy part.”
I pointed the fork at her. “Well, I’m going to enjoy it.”
I finished my food and tried to stay awake for her to come back to bed, but I must’ve passed out before she came back for my tray, because I woke up, the tray was gone, and the room was dark. Abby was curled up behind me, her arm over my middle.
“Shit,” I whispered, looking around.
“What?” Abby asked, stirring.
“What time is it?” I sat up, looking at the glowing numbers on the clock.
“You were tired, babe,” she said, squeezing me after I laid back down.
My phone pinged.
“What the hell?” I said. “Who would be texting me at this hour?”
It pinged again.
“I’m not moving,” I said. I felt a little better than I had earlier, but I was warm, comfortable, and cuddled up to my wife. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Ping!
“Reminds me of fight night,” Abby said, her voice muffled against my back.
Then, her phone chimed.
“Must be Shep and Mare,” she said, sitting up. She grabbed her phone and opened her messages. “Oh, God. Trav?”
“What?”
“It’s your dad.”
“What?” I said again, this time sitting up and reaching for my phone. “Why is he up this late? Is he okay?”
“I’m calling him,” she said, holding the phone to her ear.
I flipped on the lamp and waited.
“Jim? What happened? What? When?” Abby asked.
“Is he okay?” I asked. I could hear Dad’s voice. He was worried.
She nodded to me, then continued to listen. “We’ll be right there, Jim. We’re coming.” She hung up and then turned to me.
“Is it Dad?”
She shook her head. “Trent’s been in an accident,” she blurted out. “With Cami.”
“Tonight?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “They were T-boned by a drunk driver after work. Your dad’s at the hospital, waiting to hear from the doctors. Thomas is on a plane home.”
“So it must be bad," I said, instantly feeling sick. I stood, going straight for the closet and pulling on the first hoodie I found.
Abby got up to get dressed, too.
“He’s stable,” she said as we rushed out to the car. “Cami’s in pretty bad shape. I guess they were arguing, and Cami was driving and not paying attention. He carried her to the closest house. That’s all he said before he passed out in the ambulance. He hasn’t been awake since.”
We slammed our doors and looked at each other. Abby must’ve seen the panic on my face, because she put her hand on my knee. “They’re going be okay.”
I backed out and then rushed out of the parking lot, turning the wheel and taking the corner a little fast, instinctively reaching over to make sure Abby’s seat belt was fastened tight.
“Baby, be careful. You’ve been drinking. Don’t drive too fast in the rain.”
My hands shook as I twisted the steering wheel under my grip and lifted my foot off the gas. “Goddammit, Trent.”
The hospital’s emergency room doors swept open with a rush of air, and I squeezed Abby’s hand, pulling her through the threshold.
Exhausted mothers holding sick babies were sitting alongside frail old men, and a group of skateboarders were sitting around a friend who was holding his wrist against his chest. Moaning, whimpering, babies crying, cell phones ringing, kids playing on their tablets, and iPhones with the volume way too high layered with announcements over the PA system. It made me want to bail, but I had to find my family.
Beyond the borders of the waiting room, behind secured, double doors each with small, rectangular windows, came a muffled ruckus—a man swearing and yelling.
“Trent,” I said under my breath.
I approached the receptionist’s desk, but she didn’t even look up. “Hi,” I said, glancing down at the nameplate, “Gladys. I’m looking for Trenton Maddox.”
“Are you family?” Gladys asked with her nasally voice, unimpressed with my obvious urgency.
Twin beaded chains hung from her oval glasses. Her thin lips pursed and wrinkled between responses. She’d probably worked around ten years more than what her empathy could survive and didn’t give two fucks that my brother was hurt or that my dad was beyond those doors where I couldn’t get to him, worried.
“He’s my brother,” I said. “He was in an accident.”
“Oh, the drunk driver,” Gladys said.
It took everything in me to keep my voice calm. “No. He was hit by a drunk driver.”
“I know,” Gladys said with a sigh. “He refuses to go to his own exam room.”
“Can I see him? I can convince him to go where he needs to be.”
She stared at her computer, unaffected. “I’ll let them know you’re here. Have a seat.”
I balled my hands into fists, but before I could lose my shit, I turned on my heels and walked with Abby to a row of chairs not yet filled with the sick or injured. I sat, not realizing that my knee was furiously bobbing until I saw a kid staring at my leg. I propped my elbow on the armrest, and then pinched the bridge of my nose.
Abby was rubbing my back, but the wait was agony.
Trenton had already been in an accident with someone he cared about. Even though he’d survived, I thought losing Kenzie would kill him. If he survived this one, too, and Cami didn’t ... I wasn’t sure he could come back from that.
“He’s going to be okay, babe. I have a good feeling,” Abby said. “Trav,” she said, patting my knee. “Your dad …”
“Travis?” Dad was standing in the doorway, the double doors wide open.
I jumped up and hurried across the room, pulling him in for a hug. “How is he? How’s Cami?”
“Trenton’s awake. He passed out for a bit, but he’ll okay. He’ll be hobblin’ around for a while. Broke his arm in two places. His ankle’s swollen, but the X-Rays came back okay. I think he rolled it when he was running.”
“How are you holding up?” Abby asked, hugging Dad.
“Oh, you know. It’s past my bedtime but my boy’s hurt. Got up here as quick as I could.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Abby said, squeezing him again.
“Trent’s on back there. I told him to wait while I came and got ya. That receptionist isn’t the most helpful.” He hooked his arm around mine, and then I felt him lean on me.
On the outside, he was keeping it together, but his hands were clammy, and his red-rimmed eyes were tired.
“Dad, you sure you’re alright?”
“Me? Fine ... fine.” He looked to the receptionist. She buzzed us in, where a nurse stood. “This is my son and his wife.”
“You have a few boys it seems, Mr. Maddox.”
“Sure do. I’ve got another one on the way. Flying in from California. My oldest.”
“You’ve got a great family,” she said.
“Sure do. I’ll just take them on back.”
“Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything,” she said.
Dad led us to Camille’s exam room but stopped just outside the door, keeping his voice low. “Camille’s having a CAT scan. Trenton’s with her. When he comes back … he’s worried sick, son. Just be gentle with him. I know you boys jab at each other, but he just needs some reassurance. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, Dad. What happened?” I asked. “Abby told me part of it, but she didn’t know much.”
Dad rested a hand on his belly, his gaze falling to the floor. “Camille left work upset. Trenton jumped into the passenger seat. It was raining, and they were arguing. Never saw that little bastard run the stop sign. Her Jeep flipped four and-a-half times. When Trenton came to, he pulled her out. When he couldn’t get her to wake up, he picked her up and carried her over a mile to the nearest house.”
“Christ,” I breathed. “With a broken arm? In two places?”
“Chyeah, he did,” he said, unable to hide his pride.
Dad put his hand on the door. “When they get back, they’re going to”—Dad choked, and then cleared his throat—“they’re going to set his bones, and then cast his arm. They warned him that it’s already started to heal and if he waited it would be harder to set, but he won’t leave her.”
I squeezed him to my side. “He’s tough, Dad. He’ll be okay. What are they saying about Cami?”
Dad’s brow furrowed. “She’s still unconscious. She has a decent gash on her head and some swelling. The window shattered and cut ’em both pretty bad.”
I looked down the hall, trying to organize the thoughts in my head. I needed to say something, anything to make him feel better.
He couldn’t lose anyone else.
I nodded. “Trent’s too fuckin’ mean to die, and Cami’s tougher than he is.”
Dad smiled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Well that’s good odds, then, eh?” He pushed open the door.
Abby ushered Dad to the only chair in the room, and I popped into the hall looking for another. The nurse that greeted us was already bringing us one. “Thank you,” I said, nodding.
Other than the two chairs and the three of us, it was an empty room. No bed or IV pumps, just the mess the ER staff left behind.
I looked down at a spatter of blood on the floor, and dozens of bloody blue rags. “Jesus,” I said, placing the new chair next to Dad’s.
“Have a seat, sis,” Dad said, getting settled in his chair. “They should be back soon."
“What’s the look for?” I asked Abby, noting the sour expression on her face.
“Nothing,” she snapped.
I stood behind her, gently pressing my thumbs into her neck, kneading her tense muscles in small circles.
She let out a breath and relaxed.
“Baby,” I said. “Tell me.”
She glanced at Dad, who seemed to already know what she was about to say. “Trenton hasn’t let a girl drive since Mackenzie. The first time he ... What she did was selfish. And Thomas coming here—” She caught herself. “Never mind.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking to Dad. “Tommy’s flying in?”
Dad just nodded.
“What about the twins?”
“They were on standby for work, can’t get coverage in time. They’re coming next week.”
“Because he’s going to be okay,” I said, thinking aloud. My eyebrows pulled together as I continued to work on Abby’s neck. “But Tommy didn’t wait? That’s not like him.”
Dad didn’t offer anything more, but he couldn’t hide whatever he knew from his expression.
A man with a shaved head and baby blue scrubs pushed through the door while pulling the end of a gurney. A woman pushed from behind with one hand, pulling Trenton’s wheelchair with the other.
My brother’s eyes lit up for half a second when he saw Abby and me, but then the light dimmed.
I took over for the woman, her blond hair was pulled back tight into a no-nonsense, low ponytail. Her badge read Stacy Z., and beneath that, Radiographer.
“Thanks for the help,” the man said.
“No problem, Julian. Want me to help with telemetry?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a bright smile.
Julian scowled at Trenton. “Only if he insists on tagging along again.”
Stacy breathed out a laugh as she headed for the door, her blue eyes sparkling when she turned to wave good-bye. “I think it’s sweet.”
Trenton’s jaw muscles danced beneath his skin, but he kept his eyes forward, a permanent frown on his face. His right arm was propped on his lap, a white hospital blanket used as a makeshift splint. A large ice pack peeked out beneath the thick cotton.
I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, moving him out of the way while Julian positioned Camille’s bed, locking it into place.
Abby knelt in front of Trenton. “Hey,” she said, looking him over.
Bright red blood had seeped into the white of his right eye, and his face, neck, and arms were speckled with varying degrees of lacerations from the broken glass bouncing around in the Jeep.
I sat down in Abby’s chair, planting my elbows on my thighs.
Trenton looked away, his eyes glossing over.
Julian pressed the last button of Camille’s telemetry wires into an adhesive patch on her chest, nodding to us as he quietly exited the room.
“Trent,” I began.
“Not now,” he choked.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” I said, letting my empathy seep through to my tone.
“No, you don’t.”
I paused, trying to think of what words would help me if I were in the same position—if it were Abby lying in that bed instead of Camille. I thought about searching for her in the fire, and the sheer pain and fear that came with even the thought of losing her.
